The Chipmunk Few
by Zaku-118
Summary: 1940. Alvin's joins the RAF to try and escape from 'problems' at home. But the life of a fighter pilot isn't what he imagined and his 'problems' have followed him to England. Will Alvin come to face his problems and learn to live with himself? Will the Battle of Britain be the chipmunks last stand or their finest hour? AlvinXSimon
1. A Difficult Secret

_Well here's the first part of my new story. Reviews would be greatly appreciated_

_I don't own the Chipmunks_

* * *

It was early June 1940, one of the darkest periods of human history.

Hitler's Nazi war machine seemed unstoppable. One by one, the free countries of Europe had fallen as his panzers swept effortlessly across the entire continent.

Poland, Denmark, Norway, Holland, Belgium and now France, all had fallen under the relentless German Blitzkrieg.

All eyes had now turned to Britain and her Empire who stood quite alone against the most powerful military force the world had yet seen. Could Britain succeed where, so far, all others had failed?

That was not the question on Alvin Seville's lips.

Currently, he was standing in a largely empty street in Ottawa. Only a few meters away, was the theatre in which they were going to be performing. It was little more than a large, brick built block, with little aesthetic appeal to it.

Still as Dave said, the building was not as important as what was going on inside it.

He gripped the poster tighter in his paws. That damned poster that had started everything. That had placed the stupid idea in his head. The simple line "Want to be a hero? Join the RCCAF" Underneath it was a beautiful painting of a spitfire, soaring majestically through the clouds.

The RCCAF (Royal Canadian Chipmunk Air Force) was a force still in its infancy, and for the most part a joke.

Albert Dickenson, its founder, had pioneered the use of animals for reconnaissance and intelligence gathering purposes, and although they had proved highly successful in those roles, nobody really took his idea of a 'Chipmunk Air force' seriously.

Sure Chipmunks made great performers and spies, but who would seriously put one behind the controls of a fighter plane?

The situation in Europe, however, had created a massive and immediate demand for new pilots and this had given him a chance to get the idea rolling.

He had been granted permission to form a single squadron for evaluation purposes, providing enough 'people' applied and providing his 'Pilots' made it through basic training.

Flying had always been a childhood dream for Alvin, to be completely free and not have a care in the world, to soar effortlessly above the clouds until you could almost reach out and touch the Sky.

If Simon had heard that, he would probably have pointed out how ridiculous Alvin must sound. After all, it was impossible to, literally, touch the sky, but Alvin did not care.

Simon. He was, through no fault of his own, part of the problem. In fact, he was the reason why he needed to get away.

Recently he'd begun to have dream's he didn't like, feeling he didn't want and thoughts he couldn't explain. These were the things he could not talk to anyone about and that he had to sort out on his own. They were the reasons why he had to leave home for a while, why he needed some time to think.

Besides, this would be his big opportunity for him. A chance to prove he could manage on his own. That he was able to stand on his own two paws and look out for himself. To prove he was every bit as reliable as Simon was.

He stuffed the poster back into his jacket pocket and, with a deep breath, strode into the recruitment office.

* * *

"Just where have you been Alvin?" Simon tapped his foot in annoyance as his older brother finally entered the theatre's dressing room "We're on in a few minutes"

Theodore's lip quivered ever so slightly "We were getting worried"

"Relax guys. I just had some things to do, that's all"

"Really?" Simon sounded unconvinced. 'And just what kind of things do you mean?' he wanted to ask but managed to restrain himself. The concert would be starting in a minute or two and it would be best not push the matter until they'd finished their performance.

The last thing they needed right now was an Alvin style tantrum to ruin their show before it had even started.

No, Simon would be patient. He would wait.

After all, it wasn't as if Alvin was going anywhere.

Was he?

* * *

To say that Dave was Furious would be an understatement; In fact, it would be the winner of the award 'Biggest understatement in human history'.

"YOU DID WHAT?" he roared

Theodore cowered slightly behind Simon; He had never seen anyone this angry before and it terrified him. Simon was not so much angry as, disappointed. He had known Alvin had done stupid things in the past but this was easily far worse than any of his past shenanigans had been. With an air of complete disappointment, and a deep sigh, he removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.

He should have guessed something was up when Alvin was almost late for their show, not that that on its own was anything unusual but then again Alvin doing something stupid was hardly unusual either.

What had really worried Simon was the fact that, over the past couple of weeks, he had felt as if Alvin was deliberately avoiding him for some reason.

He and his brother had always had a slightly tense relationship. Alvin resented the fact that, although he was older (to be fair only by 5 minutes) Simon was, generally, smarter and he was taller.

Recently however things had been getting worse. Alvin hardly spoke to him nowadays, when they were on stage he always seemed to stay as far from Simon as possible. Even something as simple as eye contact was getting more and more difficult to achieve.

"Don't worry about it" Alvin brushed off Dave's anger with a casual wave of his paw. "You really think the Krauts will stand a chance against me in a spitfire"

"This isn't a joke Alvin"

"Relax Dave. I'll shoot down a few 109's, win a few medals and be home by Christmas. That's all"

"Oh no you won't" Dave retorted "You're not going"

"Well I've already signed up. There's nothing you can do about it"

"Oh yes there is. You'll resign and that's the end of it"

"You can't make me," Alvin Shouted. He was beginning to look as angry as Dave did now.

Sure, Alvin and Dave had shouting matches all the time, usually when Alvin was caught doing something stupid. Today was different though, it was a lot more aggressive and genuine anger was visible on both their faces.

Simon attempted to calm the situation down a bit "How did you get in anyway? Don't you have to be a Canadian citizen?"

Alvin was still angry, yet he managed to return his voice to it's normal volume "Simon, we're Chipmunks. We don't have citizenship anywhere" his eyes rolled slightly "That and their really desperate for pilots"

"Why Alvin?" Theodore managed to speak, although his voice was little more than a whimper in comparison to the yelling of Dave and Alvin "Why did you do it?" his eyes pleading to Alvin for an answer "Was it something we did?"

Alvin rubbed at his face, the anger temporarily replaced with sadness and a touch of confusion. How could he tell them? How could he tell anyone the reasons? "No Theo, it's nothing like that" He wished it was something that simple though "I just need some time away" He said finally "Some time to think"

"And this is the only way you can think?" Dave was still furious "by getting yourself killed?"

"You wouldn't understand" Alvin shouted "You can't possibly understand" and with that he stormed out of the room.

Simon heard his door slamming and shook his head. When would Alvin grow up?

* * *

It was pitch black outside as Alvin slung the small bag over his back. Since Dave clearly did not want him going, he would have to do things the hard way.

He had been hoping to leave like one of the heroes he had seen in those films. A tearful farewell with everyone wishing him good luck and a few misty eyed women waving handkerchiefs.

He had not expected to have to sneak out of a hotel by the back window, like some sort of criminal escaping from jail.

As carefully as he could manage, he crept down the tall hanging vine, carefully shifting his foot-paws to get as firm a foothold as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was fall. In fact, scratch that, the last thing he wanted to do was be caught, falling came second to that.

As he slithered slowly down the vine, he became more and more confident that he would get away without anyone catching him. Finally, with a short jump he was on the ground.

"Going somewhere?"

Alvin froze. He immediately felt his heart rate jump simply at hearing that voice.

With agonizing slowness, he turned his head until he was staring into Simon's calm blue eyes.

"What if I am?" He managed to retort, not even bothering to wonder how Simon had known he would try to sneak off.

Was he, really, that predictable?

Simon shook his head disappointedly "You never learn do you" He closed on Alvin, keeping his paws behind his back. He stared deep into Alvin's eyes, knowing that, for reasons still unknown to him, Alvin could not hold his gaze.

Sure enough after only a few seconds Alvin looked away "I hope you're happy," Simon continued, "You have presented me with a very serious dilemma. Part of me says I should tell Dave, but we both know that won't do any good in the long run will it?" He proceeded to circle Alvin, letting out a long deep sigh before continuing. "I suppose you have a pretty good reason for sneaking out at night, so are you going to tell me or would you like me to guess?"

Alvin's lip quivered slightly. Why did Simon always have to be such a smart ass?

Simon waited for Alvin to respond. When he didn't Simon continued anyway "well it's obvious your sneaking off to join the RCCAF since Dave won't let you go, so I guess the real question is why is it you're so determined to go"

Alvin shrugged, and twisted his head to look down at his foot paws as if they would give him an answer "I just need some time to myself and I guess I thought the Air force would be fun" he lied, trying his hardest to make it sound convincing. He could not tell Simon the real reasons. He doubted he could tell anyone, but Simon especially could never find out.

Simon arched one eyebrow "Fun? Alvin, this isn't a game. People are killed in the air force. You do know that?"

Was it just Simons imagination or had Alvin been blushing slightly throughout the conversation?

"I know" Alvin hated this. Why did Simon have to be right all the time? Why did he have to be so perfect? "I can't explain it right now. I just need some time to think"

"So you keep saying" Simon was getting impatient "Think about what?"

"Just… Things"

A silence fell between them. 'What thing's? Simon wanted to ask but guessed all he would get were yet more unhelpful response until Alvin got angry and shouted at him to just go away. Why couldn't Alvin talk to him? He was family. Surely if you had problems, the first people you went to were family.

Was it something he had done? Is that why Alvin was avoiding him, why he would not talk to him, why he needed to leave?

Seconds ticked by before Simon spoke again.

"I suppose if you're insistent on going through with this reckless endeavour, it would make sense for somebody who's" he searched for the right words "Sensible and reliable to go with you" He reached down and picked up the bag that he had had concealed in the darkness. "Someone like me"

Alvin shook his head defiantly "UH UH. Forget it" Simon was the last person he wanted to come with him. He gave him a hard look "Besides they'd never let you in"

"And, just, why not?" Simon stated defensively

Alvin did not respond he merely tapped the bridge of his nose.

"Oh" Realization suddenly struck Simon, who carefully pushed his glasses back up with a single finger "Yes, I can see how that might be a problem" He sighed and shrugged his shoulders "Oh Well I guess I'll just have to tell Dave then"

Alvin suddenly reached out a paw, grabbing his brothers' shoulder. He blushed at the contact and looked at the ground praying, that in the dark, Simon hadn't noticed, "Wait" He knew if Dave found out he had tried to sneak out, he'd kill him. "Simon Please. You have to understand this is something I have to do on my own. I just can't explain it" he struggled slightly to get the words out

Simon placed a surprisingly strong paw on his brothers' shoulders, making him blush even more "It's you who just doesn't seem to understand, Alvin. We're worried about you. You're just not yourself, you won't talk to anyone and now this" He trailed of slightly "You're my brother" he said, more quietly "I don't want to see you get hurt"

Alvin smiled and nodded "You don't have to worry Si, I'll be fine. I promise I will"

Simon managed a weak smile and patted Alvin lightly on the shoulder. It seemed he would have to settle for that.

Without another word, Simon watched as his older brother took off into the night. He stood there for a good five minutes before grabbing his own bag and heading off after him.

It would take considerably more than that for Alvin to get rid of him.


	2. Alvin's Hurricane

_What General Weygand called the "Battle of France" is over. I expect that the battle of Britain is about to begin. Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, 'This was their finest hour.' _

Winston Churchill

* * *

August 11th 1940

"Alvin…..Alvin" The sound of his own name cut through Alvin Seville's gentle dreaming. Trying to ignore it, he retreated deeper into the sheets, hoping whoever it was would give up and go away.

Yet the voice continued "Alvin" something was now shaking his shoulder, apparently hoping that this would help persuade him to leave his warm comfortable bed. "Alvin" the voice was growing steadily louder.

In an attempt to get whoever it was to stop and let him get back to sleep, he let out a long groan to show his displeasure and pulled the covers over his head. He already knew that it was a futile attempt but Alvin was not the type to give up easily.

"Alvin, wake up" The shaking grew stronger, and the voice was starting to show irritation. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Alvin cracked and yanked back the covers "What?"

Flying officer Peter Mitchell stood by his bed, a hot cup of tea in one paw, the other on Alvin's shoulder.

Mitchell was ever so slightly taller that Alvin, with very pale brown fur and deep blue eyes. A resident of Nova Scotia, he and Alvin had become close friends over the short period of time they had known each other.

"It's time to get up. We'll be leaving for the airfield in a few minutes" His Nova Scotia heritage showing through his strong accent "I made you some Tea" he said, moving the hot mug of tea in Alvin's direction.

Accepting defeat, Alvin managed to sit up in bed and rub at the sleep in his eyes. Ignoring the mug held in Mitchell's outstretched paw for the moment. A glance out the window confirmed it was still relatively dark outside, with the sun only just beginning to creep over the horizon. Why was he awake? It could not be dawn yet, why would anyone be awake at this time?

After a wide yawn, he accepted the offered mug of tea and took a small sip. It was very hot but otherwise pretty good, Mitchell's culinary talents shinning through once again, despite the restraints of rationing.

He glanced up at Mitchell over the brim of the mug "By the way, what time is it?"

Mitchell gave his watch a cursory glance "It's about ten to four"

The tea Alvin had just drunk was suddenly and violently sprayed across his bed sheets "In the Morning?" he almost shouted incredulously.

Alvin was suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that joining up may have been a terrible mistake.

* * *

Alvin was still yawning, quite loudly, as he grudgingly pulled himself up into the back of the flatbed lorry. He was up, but by no means awake. Mitchell's cup of tea had done nothing to help wake him up, neither had the quick wash he had been able to grab somehow.

Tea, It had never really been his favourite drink. He could drink it ok, but it did not seem to have the same effect on him that it appeared to have on the British and Canadians. He was more of a coffee munk himself; not that there was much chance of getting any coffee since the RAF had prohibited the drinking of coffee in the RCCAF. They had seen what chipmunks were like after drinking coffee.

Sitting down on the rather uncomfortable bench, he couldn't help but look down at his watch. A rather elegant wrist watch that Theodore had given him on last Birthday. It was about twenty past four. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't get over it. Eight o'clock was early for him, once he vaguely remembered having to get up at seven, but Four, that was just ridiculous.

The dozen or so pilots gathered in the back of the lorry were as varied a bunch of Chipmunks as you could hope to meet. Their furs a wide variety of browns, ranging from almost blonde through to deep dark brown. Some of them were tall some were short, some had brown eyes others blue. There were Chipmunks from all over Canada (and America in Alvin's case) in the back of this lorry. Mitchell from Nova Scotia, Jackson from Ontario, Blithe who'd been born up in the northwest territories, even a tall thin munk called Rochelle from Quebec. Aside from Alvin, the only non-Canadian in the unit was Moore, a short quiet Chipmunk born in Newfoundland.

All, however, were dressed just the same as him, White shirt and Black Tie worn under a blue-grey tunic. The Tunic, left open at the collar, supposedly to look smart yet all it achieved for Alvin was to reveal to the whole world that he had difficulty dong a tie, especially at four o'clock in the morning.

As the lorry left London and sped down the country roads, Alvin could not help but be impressed by the English countryside. It was just as he'd imagined it, rolling fields and green hedgerows, plus it was surprisingly warm considering it was august; Not quite as warm as California but pleasant nonetheless.

The squadron had received what could laughingly be referred to as a crash course in flying; obviously, they had not called it that though. A full month of training in clunky old biplanes in Canada before being shipped over to England to help repel the 'imminent' German invasion. Yet there wasn't a German in sight, Alvin thought as he looked up at the clear blue sky; come to think of it, he couldn't remember ever seeing a German, ever.

The other thing he could not understand was why they were being placed in the virtual front line. The squadron had no experience, extremely limited flying time, only basic training and, as of this moment, no officers. Bizarre was about the only word that could explain it, especially with more experienced squadrons being posted in secondary positions such as Scotland and the South West.

Veterans of France and Norway were being posted behind the lines whilst the green Chipmunks, with only about a hour or two solo flying each, would be right in the thick of, what would turn out to be, one of the most pivotal battles in history.

The odds were stacked against them, but that was precisely the way Alvin liked it. After all that's were you always find heroes isn't it? In the front line.

* * *

The car sped down the old country road at a fairly impressive, and quite probably dangerous, rate. It's driver all too eager to deliver his two passengers as quickly as possible.

He had thought it best not to ask why he was to drive two talking chipmunks in RAF uniforms to a, supposedly, disused airfield near Biggin Hill. He was sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation behind it all.

Sitting on the back seat, half watching the trees and hedgerows shoot past; Simon carefully polished his glasses with the sleeve of his tunic, before placing them back on.

"Feeling nervous?" His companion asked, in an unhelpfully cheerful tone.

Simon nodded "Just a bit" It was not a lie but it was a bit of an understatement. This would be the first time he would met these Chipmunks. These were people who would be relying on him, counting on him, and not in the way that Dave counted on him back home. This was entirely different; this was war. A lot more hung on his shoulders here, than back home and the consequences of a mistake on his part did not bare thinking about.

He was, however, pleased that he would be able to see his brother again.

He had joined up with the intention of keeping an eye on his brother and keeping him out of trouble, yet so far, they had seen neither hide nor hair of each other during training. Alvin had been sent off to become a pilot whilst Simon was stuck with the, unenviable, position of administrative officer. This was partly because of his high IQ but mainly because of his poor vision, which had removed any possibility of him becoming a pilot.

In fact, it was very probable that Alvin did not even know that Simon had joined up

"I'm sure it will be fine" his companion grinned "I've read their personnel reports and they seem like a decent bunch of chaps"

His companion, Thomas Stuart, was the appointed squadron leader of R squadron RCCAF. He was a cheerful and plainspoken chipmunk, who seemed to radiate a friendly, trusting aura that made people feel comfortable around him.

He was also the only known Chipmunk in the world with any previous flying experience.

He had been a pilot in the Spanish civil war, flying outdated bi-planes for the republicans, who hadn't been too choosey when it came to pilots. He had earned himself a good many medal and had gained more flying experience than the rest of the squadron put together.

"I assume you have read their personnel reports?"

Simon could not tell from his tone whether this was a test or not. As an administrative officer, all he really had to do was read and write reports all day long. He was essentially nothing more than a glorified quartermaster. Battling with numbers and logistics rather than Germans. Whether it was a test or not he had nothing to worry, He had been told to read the personnel reports and he did not intend to fall behind before he had even started.

"Yes. They certainly do look like an interesting bunch"

Stuart chuckled as if he had just remembered a rather good joke "This Alvin Seville sounds like quite a character"

"Oh he is" Simon agreed

"Yes I had a feeling you knew each other" he chuckled "Although I suppose the surname was a bit of a give away" he turned his gaze back to Simon "Brothers?"

Simon nodded

"You close?"

Simon sighed and shook his head "Not really" it pained Simon to admit it, but it was the truth. He had not been able to shake the feeling that Alvin had been keeping something important from him back in America. It was not normal even for Alvin, the way he had been avoiding him, refusing to talk to him, unable to even look at him. Simon was determined to find out what it was, convinced that it was related to why Alvin had joined the RCCAF in the first place. Maybe if he could help Alvin overcome his problems than they could forget this nonsense and go back home.

Not for the first, or the last, time, Simon wondered if he had done the right thing following his brother into the RCCAF.

If whatever was bothering Alvin WAS in fact something to do with him, he could in theory make the whole situation a lot worse by turning up.

It was too late to worry about that now, he reminded himself. He had made his bed and he would lie in it regardless of the consequences.

* * *

Alvin was once again rudely awoken as the lorry came to a sharp stop. He had not intended to fall asleep on the way here and was slightly irritated that he had. It was still much too early in the morning for him.

As he one again rubbed at his eyes, the chipmunk pilots filed off the back of the lorry "Look lively Seville" a tall dark furred Chipmunk called Callahan said with a smirk "We're here now" It took every ounce of self control Alvin had to stop himself from glaring at him.

Edward Callahan was perhaps the most difficult squadron member to understand, one of the only ones that Alvin did not understand.

On the surface, he appeared to be quite charming. He was well spoken, cheerful, always laughing with the other members of the squadron, yet he became an absolute demon the second anybody mentioned a German.

He hated Germans so much it was almost unreal. Alvin had no idea why and, frankly, did not want to know. Callahan had proved that he was not the sort of person you wanted to get on the wrong side of.

Alvin could claim to be friends with Callahan, whilst it was true that they talked quite regularly, Alvin had to admit to feeling very uncomfortable around him. It was his cruel, ruthless almost brutal nature that Alvin just could not understand. During training Callahan had made it clear that he would show no pity or mercy towards the enemy, and Alvin believed him.

A short jump later and Alvin's paws were back on solid ground.

At first glance, the new airfield did not look like much to right home about. A large flat grassy field with a few wooden huts and a large concrete hanger, pretty standard layout really.

He guessed that the huts were sleeping quarters, storerooms, the mess, things like that. There was a small fuel dump by one of the huts and a few parked fuel Lorries on the runway. Apart from them, the whole place looked rather empty.

That was aside from the other large objects parked on the runway, and as Alvin's gaze settled on them he found his eyes widening in uncontrollable awe.

There, sitting in one long neat line, the midday sun gleaming slightly of the painted metal fuselage, was the most beautiful sight Alvin had ever seen. The striking green/brown camouflage pattern, the clear polished canopy right down to the brightly painted RAF roundel on it's side. It was as if somebody had plucked it right out of his dreams.

Like someone in a trance, Alvin walked slowly towards this truly outstanding object that had so grabbed his attention. He felt drawn to it, as if it was calling to him.

As soon as he could, Alvin reached out a paw and, gently, touched the edge of one of the outstretched, rounded wings, feeling the smooth texture of the painted metal under his paw.

A warm rush filled his stomach at the contact. How long had he waited for this moment? How many times had he dreamed about this beautifully crafted masterpiece? How long had he prayed to be close enough to one to touch it?

Now it was all his.

"Hello Gorgeous" was all he could bring himself to say

It was official, Alvin Seville was in love, and her name was Hawker Hurricane.

* * *

The twelve Hurricanes had been aligned neatly along the runway in a long straight line. Like children on a school outing, the pilots wove in and out between the planes inspecting them and choosing which would be theirs. Alvin, however, had already chosen his.

From the moment he had set eyes on it as he had jumped off the lorry, he knew that this was his Hurricane.

He stood beside it with Mitchell close by. "She's not quite a Spitfire is she" Alvin was surprised that his voice did not sound all that disappointed, in deed he was not very disappointed.

Mitchell shrugged "She may not be as beautiful as the Spit but she's still a tough old bird"

Alvin nodded "I guess that's what we'll find out" he pointed toward the nosecone of his Hurricane "I was going to put a big yellow 'A' near the front," he explained "So they know it's me, you know" he grinned from ear to ear "What do you think?"

Mitchell responded with a mischievous grin "Sort of like the Red Baron" a quick glance from Callahan and he quickly added "Only not German of course"

Callahan had begun to close on the two, causing both of them to begin feeling nervous. Alvin tried to hide it though and carried on normally "You know what I mean. I want them to know it's me, The Chipmunk Ace," he laughed, "That way they can start running the second they see me"

Callahan's dark voice spoke before Mitchell had a chance "I don't want to scare them. I want to shoot the buggers down"

Mitchell patted the Hurricane affectionately "I'm sure there'll be plenty for you to shoot down" He could hardly keep the contempt from his voice. He did not like Callahan and did not like pretending that he did "I think I'll leave mine the way it is" he smiled back at Alvin

"Suit yourself" Alvin could not be happier and nothing was going to bring him down. He had his own Hurricane, his head was clear and the problems that had worried him in America were long gone from his mind. There was nothing for him to worry about now, except the Luftwaffe of course.

Nobody really paid much attention as a car stopped on the perimeter of the airfield or as two chipmunks, wearing the smart tunic and peaked caps that indicated officers, stepped out. They were all too occupied with their new Hurricanes

It was as if it was Christmas for the squadron.

As the officers crossed the airfield, a familiar scent wafted into Alvin's nostrils. One he had almost completely forgotten in all the excitement of the past month, one he'd been trying desperately to push from his mind, one that left a swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

"Ah Mr Seville, enjoying the new Hurricane are we"

Alvin, only now noticing how close the officers were, nervously saluted, Mitchell and Callahan quickly following suit.

The first officer, a Squadron leader, let out a good hearty laugh "You can save that in case Mr Churchill pops round"

Alvin nodded still feeling nervous, he tried not to look at the officers knowing even if he did he wouldn't be able to hold their gaze.

"So what do you think of them?"

Alvin twisted round to look up at the Hurricane "I'd been hoping for Spits sir"

The Squadron leader nodded "Hadn't we all. Can't get them though" he patted the side of the Hurricane "These are specially designed though. Scaled down cockpit, and the reduced weight of having a Chipmunk pilot as opposed to a human means we can carry more fuel and ammo" He continued to smile, looking round to examine his new airfield. It was then that his face suddenly fell "Who the hell deployed these Hurricanes?" he demanded, suddenly sounding very angry.

Alvin, slightly taken aback simply shrugged "I don't know sir. They were like this when we got here"

The squadron leader looked round more intensely as if he could catch the perpetrator by sight alone "It's a bloody picnic for the Hun's. One good strafe and there goes the whole squadron"

As he stormed off looking for the idiot responsible, the second officer smiled at Alvin "It's good to see you again Alvin"

Alvin said nothing

"You must be Peter Mitchell" he reached out a paw that Mitchell shook heartily, before he gave Callahan a questioning look

"Ed Callahan" he said in answer to the officer's unasked question.

"Of course" the officer responded as if the name had been on the tip of his tongue "I'm Simon Seville, you're administrative officer"

"Seville?" Mitchell asked, confused "Are you his…."

"Brother" Alvin finished the sentence for him "Hello Simon" was all he could manage.

And just like that all of his problems returned in one fell swoop.

* * *

I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible, in the meantime a few reviews would be nice :D (and have been shown to make me to write faster)


	3. Trial by Fire

August 12th 1940

Alvin was finding it impossible to get to sleep that night, which came as a great surprise considering how tired he had felt all day.

All those thoughts and sensations that he had tried so hard to bury during training had come rushing back in a massive, overwhelming torrent and refused to leave him. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever have peace of mind again.

Every time he closed his eyes now, he saw him; as clearly as if he was standing right in front of him. Those gorgeous pale blue eyes, the soft fur, the gentle glint of sunlight off his glasses. He tried to focus on something else; anything, just so long as it could get these images out of his head, but nothing seemed to work.

His stomach felt empty and hollow except for a soft, warm glow that he didn't want, no matter how pleasing it felt. Then there was that damn scent that had filled his nostrils and refused to leave.

That beautiful, irritatingly seductive scent that just made him go to pieces. He hated it, and yet he loved it at the same time.

He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He wanted him. He wanted him so badly but at the same time, he knew he could never have him.

Alvin knew the world he lived in all too well.

Being gay was illegal; being in love with your Brother was illegal. It made him wonder just how it could be a crime to fall in love. Love was love, was it really, that important who you fell in love with? If both people were happy and willing, shouldn't that be enough?

He lay there just staring at the ceiling, as the hours ticked slowly by, but no matter how hard he tried his mind just refused to clear. His paws slowly tightened, gripping the sheets beneath him. This was so frustrating.

He loved him so much, and at the same time, he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

It was a dream, and for Simon's sake as well as his own, he had to make sure, it remained a dream and nothing more.

* * *

Four o'clock arrived painfully slowly that morning. After lying awake throughout the night, the gentle rays of sunlight creeping though his window were actually a small relief to Alvin. At least he was supposed to be awake now.

At least this morning there would be no wake up cup of tea. He did not feel up to cup of tea, not right now anyway.

He began to wonder when he would next get a decent night sleep.

As he sat there thinking to himself, his door slowly creaked open and a familiar furry face poked its way in "Alvin..." it started then noticed him sitting up in bed "Oh you're up"

Alvin nodded and rubbed at his eyes, he was indeed up. He was very very tired, but up all the same. He indicated that Mitchell could come in if he wanted, before grabbing his uniform and heading to get dressed. Perhaps getting dressed might wake him up a little.

Mitchell pushed the door further open and walked in, a cup of tea in one paw. This time it was not for Alvin but for himself, "Did you not get any sleep last night?" he asked, taking a sip from his tea and noticing the tired expression on his friends face "You look like death"

Alvin nodded again, "Yeah, I guess its nerves" he lied "Didn't sleep a wink. You?"

"Slept like a baby" Mitchell replied over his tea "So" he continued after a moments silence "the new officers your brother?"

Alvin froze momentarily, his shirt only half buttoned "Yes he is"' his tone suggesting the Mitchell should leave it at that. Of course, Mitchell ignored it.

"You have a fight or something?" he asked, still curious as to why Alvin had never mentioned his brother before. All the other pilots seemed to be bending over backwards to talk about their brothers, sisters, fathers, cousins, you name it; yet Alvin had never mentioned his family.

Alvin let out a sigh and finished buttoning his shirt "No it's nothing like that" he said after a while

"So what is it?" Mitchell persisted.

Alvin pulled on his tunic and began fiddling with his belt "Just leave it Mitchell" he finished buckling the belt "It's personal"

Mitchell nodded in an understanding way, and then waited for Alvin to go on.

It took Alvin a while but he finally noticed Mitchell's questioning gaze "What?"

Mitchell shrugged, a little surprised "Well it's just when you said it's personal I just assumed that meant you were going to tell me"

"Is that how they do things in Canada?" Alvin asked with a smirk. It had not taken long for Mitchell, or anyone else for that matter, to work out that Alvin was not a Canadian, and Alvin had been persuaded to drop the pretence. They were hardly going to send him home were they, the squadron was already short on pilots and they had only just arrived.

Mitchell shrugged, as he headed for the door "Just don't make me bring up 1812"

Alvin continued straightening his collar in the mirror "Why?" he asked with a grin "We won"

Half out the door, Mitchell lent back into the room "No you didn't" and with that, he closed the door again.

* * *

Simon, in complete contrast to his brother as usual, had slept surprisingly well that night. He managed this despite having an uncomfortable bunk, worrying about Alvin, being involved in a war he had not wanted to get involved in and being homesick.

Apart from that, he had slept well.

Simon had also always had the advantage of being more adaptable to mornings than his brother was. After a quick shower and a cup of 'char' as Stuart called it, he was as awake as he could be.

Stepping outside of the officer's quarters, whilst straightening his peaked cap, he caught a glimpse of Alvin and Mitchell heading for the mess and breakfast.

If he had hoped that the RCCAF had cheered his brother up, he was sorely disappointed. Even at this distance, Simon could tell he was exhausted and looking extremely miserable. His shoulders were hunched, his head hung low as he walked and his eyes fixed on the ground, rather than looking straight ahead. It made Simon feel so bad; his brother was becoming more and more depressed and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it.

He had tried talking to him several times without any success. Dave and Theodore had tried, in fact Simon had even enlisted Brittany's help back home, but none of them had been able to find out what was bothering Alvin.

Not usually one to give up easily, Simon had reluctantly realised Alvin was not going to tell anyone anything unless he wanted to. The only thing Simon could do was watch, wait and hope that everything turned out all right in the end.

It was so frustrating to watch someone you care about slipping deeper and deeper into depression and not being able to do anything to help. He hated it; he hated feeling useless.

"Morning Simon," Stuarts inappropriately cheerful voice booming from behind him "I see you're up and about already eh?"

Stuart's sudden and unexpected appearance had caught Simon slightly off guard, and he found himself jumping slightly. He hadn't thought Stuart was the type to go around sneaking up on people, especially at half past four in the morning.

"I thought an early start would be a good idea," he offered. In truth there was very little for him to do at the moment.

The squadron had so far done nothing, so there was nothing for him to write reports on, no spares, ammunition or fuel required, there were no casualties, no lost equipment, no building repairs required.

In fact, he could safely say that he had nothing to do.

Conversely, Stuart had his paws full. He had to assign all his pilots to sections, appoint section leaders, choose a flight lieutenant and write a duty roster. To make matter worse, he had no idea how much experience and training these Chipmunks had.

It had been so much easier in Spain, when he had just been a pilot. All he had had to worry about then was flying and making it back to the airfield in one piece, now not only did he have to make sure he made it back, there were eleven other pilots he was responsible for and a dozen or so other responsibilities to add to that.

On the plus side, at least he had Simon to deal with most of the paperwork.

"Looks like it'll be a quiet day today," Stuart, pointed out as he looked up at the clear blue sky.

Simon nodded "I get the feeling the Germans might try and liven things up"

Stuart just smiled "Yes, apparently there were rather heavy attacks yesterday" He pulled a small bundle of papers from under his arm, deciding to change the subject "I've given some thought to section assignments" he handed a sheet of paper to Simon "and I'd like the opinion of my administrative officer"

Simon accepted the paper, giving it a quick glance, "I'll look over it during breakfast" Then unable to stop himself he finally asked the question that had been bugging him ever since he had met the squadron leader "Sir. If you don't mind me asking, where are you from?"

Stuart responded without any hesitation "Portsmouth"

That was not an answer that Simon had been expecting "In England sir?"

Stuart looked up "That's right, why is there something wrong with Portsmouth?"

Simon shook his head quickly "No sir. It's just, well, I didn't think you got Chipmunks in England"

Stuart let out a short sigh "You don't", he did not need to look at Simon to see the questioning look on his face "and it's a long story which I'll probably tell later but right now I'm starving"

* * *

Alvin was usually one to look forward to breakfast. However simply by looking at the contents of the bowl in front of him he could tell that once again R Squadron was at the bottom of the RAF's priorities.

The bowl in front of Alvin was half-filled with extremely thick and very hot lumpy porridge. He could literally feel the heat coming off it, and after sticking his spoon in it, he was amazed that it was able to stand perfectly upright without any assistance.

Despite how unappetising it appeared, he knew it would be all that he'd be getting and that was all the motivation anyone really needed. Besides, he supposed that it would keep body and soul together until lunch.

These were the joys of rationing, he thought to himself as a spoonful of porridge landed back in the bowl with a dull splat.

* * *

Alvin was still recovering from that bowl of porridge when Stuart ordered the squadron to gather round, The Squadron leader's gaze taking in the pilots one at a time, gauging them, assessing them.

Eleven pilots he thought, it was barely enough for a squadron, and they were all so young. He reckoned they were all fresh out of training. It was just his luck, he thought to himself, he finally got the command he wanted and half his pilots were still wet behind the ears.

Still, regardless of how few there were, how young they were or how green they were, nothing changed the fact that they were all he had to work with. They would have to do the job until the second draft arrived from Canada, if there even was a second draft that is.

Simon stood a few paces behind Stuart, holding a small sheaf of papers that he kept scanning with his eyes. Alvin tried not to look at him, tried not to acknowledge how handsome his brother look in the RAF uniform. He kept his gaze fixed on the squadron leader. That was where he was supposed to be looking anyway.

With one last look over, Simon handed the papers back up to Stuart. Stuart giving them only a fleeting glimpse before speaking "Okay, how many of you have flown Hurricanes before?"

An ominous silence caused Stuart to look back up. His fears about this command were being proved right. "Magister's?" he asked hopefully, again receiving no response. With desperation tugging at his voice he tried one last time "Have any of you flown before?"

Alvin half raised a paw "I've had an hours solo in a Tiger moth"

There were nods and a few murmurs of agreement. To Stuart, though, it was the last thing he had wanted to hear.

He had guessed they would be inexperienced, and he'd read that they had received very little training but he had never imagined that things would be this bad.

He was an experienced fighter pilot, not some babysitter. He had seen far too many young boys shot down over Spain, to know how dangerous inexperience and lack of training could be.

If the Germans were still as good as they had been in Spain and these Chipmunks met them… Well he didn't really want to think about it but he knew it would not be pretty.

"Alright" he took a long deep breath "so let me get this straight, you've had an hours flying each?"

More nods. This had to be a joke; it had to be. They couldn't seriously have put an under strength squadron of half trained rookies on the front line, they couldn't have.

Could they?

"Ok then" he said, running one hand through his uncombed hair "until further notice we'll be flying training flights" he quickly checked his watch "so I guess we'd better get started then"

* * *

The twelve hurricanes flew over the English countryside in a rather loose "Vic" formation, with Stuart trying his best to keep them in some kind of order.

"Blithe keep your wing up. Callahan get back in formation. Keep her steady Mitchell" He had known it was going to be hard teaching a group who were so new to flying but he had to admit these kids were doing better than he had expected. Who knew, given time they might actually turn into a decent squadron.

Alvin was surprised to find that he was actually enjoying himself. He had thought that training flights would be dull and monotonous, but this was what he had wanted all along, to be free of his earthbound problems even if it was only for a short while.

That was all he had wanted.

Good things however rarely seem to last, and Stuarts training flight came to a rather abrupt end.

Webb's voice came crackling over the radio "Bandits 9 o'clock low, five or six of them I'd say" Webb was slightly older than Alvin, a calm patient Chipmunk who had grown up in the harsh forests of the Yukon. His Hurricane, Yellow three, was at the far left of the squadron and had actually fallen ever so slightly out of formation. Whilst this spoilt the appearance of the squadron, it had allowed him to spot the flight of Stuka's below them.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Callahan whooped

Stuarts response was quick with only a hint of anger "You'll wait till you're given orders, that's what"

He switched over to the radio "Control we have bandits spotted approaching Rye RDF station, requesting instructions, over"

"R squadron" the response came back after only a few seconds "79 squadrons been scrambled, return to base, over"

Stuart wanted to protest but he knew it was the right decision, or at least the safe decision. It was too soon to bring the squadron into combat, and if the enemy were 109's then the squadron would, more than likely, be massacred.

He also knew that if they were bombers, they'd have blown up the RDF station and be halfway back to Berlin before 79 showed up. He would have to make a split second decision, take a risk or play it safe.

"Webb" He switched back to the intercom "Can you tell what type they are?"

Webb nodded "Stuka's sir. I don't see any fighters with them"

"Then it's a free lunch" Callahan bit back "Come on sir, we can take them"

If the air vice-marshal found out, he would probably end up in the shit, but he also knew how important these RDF stations were. He chose to take a risk.

"Blue and Green Sections hang back and keep your eyes peeled for fighter escorts. Red and Yellow Sections, let's get the bastards"

Almost as one, the two Hurricane sections split off from the main group and began to dive, like hawks onto the unsuspecting Stukas below.

Alvin could now clearly see the angular black outlines of the Stuka's, like five black crosses over the pale blue of the English Channel. This was it, his first taste of combat.

His heart started racing, his paws clenching nervously around the cold metal control stick. Breathe easily, that's what the instructors had told him, just breathe easily, keep moving and you'll be fine.

The Hurricanes descent did not go unnoticed for long however.

"Achtung, Achtung" one of the Stuka's rear gunners shouted, "Britishen strumflug"

The pilots began scanning the sky, quickly spotting the Hurricanes. They desperately attempted to break, but it was too little far too late.

The Chipmunks, remembering their training, held their fire until the last possible second, then let rip with everything they had. The Hurricanes eight .303 machine guns blazing in quick short bursts at the enemy Stukas.

Alvin held his fire, remembering what his instructor had told him 'If you think you're too close, get closer'. Then the rearmost Stuka strayed into his sights and without a seconds hesitation he fired. The rapid burst of bullets only lasted a few seconds, and flew well wide of the target.

He cursed under his breath and fired again, holding the button down for longer this time. His persistence paid off, with a few bullets tearing into the Stuka's wing. Although this caused only superficial damage to the Stuka itself, Alvin couldn't resist a mental whoop at his achievement.

By now the Stuka's rear gunner had become aware of the danger posed by Alvin's Hurricane and swung his machine gun round to open fire at the fighter plane. The MG's short bursts achieved no more success than Alvin's opening salvo, with the bullets flying well wide of the weaving Hurricane.

The volleys did manage to remind Alvin that the Stuka, whilst not a fighter still had teeth and he resumed his attack with renewed determination. Biting down on his lip, he squeezed the button again, holding it down for about six seconds.

His reward this time was a thick plume of black smoke that came billowing out of the Stuka's engine. Out of control, it spiralled down out of the dogfight and towards the English Channel below.

Alvin almost cheered, as the Stuka sank. He had done it; he had bagged his first jerry kite.

The dogfight, the war, Simon, it was all temporarily forgotten as he revelled in his moment of triumph. Only it did not feel like a triumph. It did not feel anything like he had expected. It felt hollow, bitter, and as he continued to watch the Stuka plummet towards the channel, he began to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake.

He didn't have long to think about it though as Stuart's voice over the radio harshly jolted him back to reality "Never fly in a straight line or you're a dead duck"

Cursing for the second time, Alvin twisted his control stick to bring him into a sharp left turn, back to the dogfight that was now all but over. Only two of the Stukas remained airborne and both were being pursued by Hurricanes.

Stuart was nonetheless worried. This all seemed a little too easy "Blue section, any sign of the fighters?"

Mitchell calmly responded "Not a thing up here sir, looks like they were on their own"

After a few minutes the last Stuka exploded, the flaming wreck plummeting down into the channel, bringing the cruelly unequal dogfight to its inevitable conclusion.

R squadron's first taste of combat was a resounding success.

* * *

_Whether the weather may be wet or fine  
We'll just rub along without a care.  
We're going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line  
If the Siegfried Line's still there_

The loud squeaky singing filled the otherwise quiet officer's mess. Stuart could have ordered them to stop but he felt his squadron deserved a celebration after proving their worth in combat, and he could think of no better way of celebrating than a free round of drinks in the officer's mess.

They had performed surprisingly well for rookies, and he had to admit he was proud of them. At this rate they would turn into a first rate squadron.

Now all he could hope was that their singing improved.

Alvin, meanwhile, had decided not to join in with the singing, not because he didn't want to but simply because he was too tired. He felt like he had not had a good sleep in ages and he had the feeling that he wouldn't be getting one for quite a while.

Stuart pulled up a chair beside Alvin, placing his pint of bitter on the table "Mind if I join you?"

Alvin swallowed the beer already in his mouth before nodding and gesturing at the seat "feel free"

Alvin had never had warm beer before (As far as Dave and Simon were concerned he had never had beer, full stop) and he was pleasantly surprised to find himself enjoying it.

"Enjoying yourself?" Stuart inquired, and again Alvin nodded

"I always enjoy myself when it's someone else's round," he said with a wide grin

Stuart laughed "Yes, well I have a feeling this war will last a while so you'll be getting the rounds sooner or later" he took a sip from his own pint of bitter "I'm only asking cause you've been going round the airfield with a face like a slapped arse and I'd like to know why?"

Alvin shrugged "Just family matters sir"

"Can I assume that means its something to do with Simon?" Stuart persisted, and again Alvin nodded. "Well in the interests of the squadron, I advise you to settle whatever it is between you and Simon" he downed the last of the pint "and you can consider that an order"

* * *

That night Alvin had difficulty sleeping again. His mind even more troubled than it had been the night before.

He had hoped that joining the RCCAF would give him time to think, to solve his problems on his own and in his own time. Now it seemed like everyone was intent on helping him solve his problems when all he really wanted was to be left alone.

The airfield was such a small place, it would be impossible to avoid Simon for any great deal of time, and now it seemed that Mitchell and Stuart were on his case as well.

It just seemed like everything he did only succeeded in making things worse.

He was now a fighter pilot in someone else's war because he had fallen in love with his brother, the same brother that had followed him into the war and was now staying in a hut a few meters from him. To cap it all there were now several million Germans sitting across the English Channel who wanted to kill him.

Could things get any worse?

He had the horrible feeling that they would

* * *

Sorry for taking so long on this chapter, but i'm a bit of a perfectionist. Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	4. Adlertag

Once again I know i've left you waiting for a long time, but this is an important chapter and i really wanted to get it right. I really will try to get the next chapter up soon, but in the mean time i hope you enjoy chapter 3 (Or 4 depending how you look at it)

* * *

_Thank God, men cannot as yet fly, and lay waste the sky as well as the earth._

Henry David Thoreau 1861.

The morning of August 13th was much the same as any other morning to Simon Seville since he'd arrived in Britain. He woke up at four, had a wash and brush up, got dressed and went about his work. He imagined to anyone else it would be a very tiring schedule but the simple fact of the matter was that he had almost no work to do at all.

Sure he had lots of forms to fill in and reports to draft and redraft but he was feeling more and more like a fifth wheel. He was completing lots of work but at the same time he wasn't really doing anything.

Surrendering again to the fact that he was here, and there wasn't a lot he could do about it now, he picked up his pencil and returned to his work.

As he scanned over Stuarts horribly scrawled, 'After Action Report' the door to his office creaked open and Stuart himself walked in, as always holding a cup of tea in one paw.

In actuality the cup was now empty; after pulling a disgusted face in the doorway he had tossed the foul tasting contents of the cup onto the grass "I bet the Bosch can get a decent cuppa" he complained in a bitter voice.

Simon glanced over the rims of his glasses at the disgruntled squadron leader "Good morning to you too(!)"

The Squadron leader seemed to ignore him; collapsing into the chair opposite Simon, he began chewing nervously on the end of his thumb. This only served to make his administrative officer more suspicious "Is something the matter? You seem a little on edge" he put down his pencil "Well more than a little actually"

Stuart stopped chewing on his thumb, turning to Simon as if he had only now become aware of his presence "What? Oh, it's nothing; just a feeling I've got"

"A bad feeling?" Simon asked

Stuart didn't answer straight away, rather he began rubbing at his right eye with the base of his paw. Despite having Simon to do most of the menial paperwork, his new command seemed to have left him tired and stressed out; and things didn't look like they'd be improving anytime soon.

"It's just, the Jerries were attacking our RDF stations yesterday. I just get the feeling they're planning something big for today"

Simon lent back in his chair, He knew exactly what Stuart meant. It was as clear as the nose on his face.

If the Germans succeeded in knocking out the Radar stations then the RAF would be left virtually blind; they just didn't have enough pilots to perform continues patrol and the Germans knew it.

The RAF would be brought to it's knees, and if that happened; well Simon didn't really want to think about that

"Take out the eyes" Stuart murmured, neatly summing up the situation "Then go in for the kill, it's basic strategy" he lowered his arm, but continued to chew at his bottom lip. "Then there's this feeling I've got" He looked over the desk at Simon "Only had it once before" his thumb began picking instinctively at his fore finger "Right before Guernica"

"Oh" Simon looked back down at his papers "that's not good is it"

Stuart slowly shook his head "No. No it's not"

Simon finally asked the question that he had been asking himself ever since he'd taken off after Alvin, what seemed like a lifetime ago "Stuart, do you think we can win?"

The Squadron leaders gaze was distant, his voice a gentle murmur, "I don't know Simon, I just don't know"

It had not been the answer that Simon had been hoping for.

* * *

For Alvin Seville the morning had arrived with the painful slowness that he was, grudgingly, becoming accustomed to. He was sure that many more early mornings and sleepless nights would put him in an early grave more surely than the Luftwaffe. After all he'd lost track of the amount of times Dave had told him he needed his sleep.

He had been dreading today more than any other day in his life but he had also accepted the fact that there was nothing left for him to do. He had exhausted every other alternative.

All he could do now was hope he could come up with a suitable lie that Simon would believe. He reckoned he was safe, he had been lying to his brother for years and felt he had managed to get it down to a fine art, yet this time nothing came to him.

There had to be something, something that he could tell his brother to remedy the situation whilst still keeping him in the dark.

"Ah Alvin" he looked up in time to see Stuart making a beeline for him. Oh Christ that was all he needed.

"I've been looking for you Alvin; did you sleep in or something?"

Alvin shook his head. In truth, he hadn't slept at all last night so the idea of a lie in was actually rather appealing.

Apparently satisfied with that Stuart went on "I've drawn up the squadron roster and your brother's approved it"

Alvin nodded even though he had no idea how this involved him.

He liked Stuart, recognising him as a fair munk who would never push you too far, but right now, all he really wanted was some time alone. Unfortunately for him, it was extremely unadvisable to tell your superior officer to bugger off.

"Well" Stuart continued, "I've given it some thought and, heaven help me, I'm putting you in charge of Red section"

Alvin nodded wearily, then caught on to what Stuart had said "Me? In command?"

It was almost too good to be true, he had only been here a few days and now he had his first promotion.

Realising what he'd done and attempting to pull Alvin back to earth Stuart continued, "Just one section, you'll be in charge of two wingmen" he looked back at the paper in his paw "Scott and Jackson" he lowered the paper again and folded his arms "You've got potential Alvin, keep up the good work"

Ordinarily Alvin would be thrilled. He had hardly done anything and he'd been promoted, He was in charge of someone now. Unfortunately, these were not ordinary circumstances, and all Stuart had, admittedly unintentionally, done was place another burden on his back.

Why was life so unfair?

* * *

As it turned out Alvin didn't have to wait long for his leadership skills to be put to the test.

Literally minutes after Stuart had promoted him, the squadron was ordered to scramble. Their first official scramble of the war and despite his ever-worsening nerves Alvin was determined to make it a success.

It took R squadron four minutes to get airborne 'not bad' Stuart thought but they'd have to do better next time.

As it turned out Stuarts gut instinct had been correct all along. The Germans were throwing everything they had across the channel, their aim, to smash the RAF on the ground as a precursor to invasion. Already large numbers of German planes had already been spotted crossing the channel. One particularly large group was now heading for Dover. With all other squadrons otherwise engaged R squadron's orders were to move towards Dover, link up with 64 squadron and engage the enemy.

"So you reckon you boys are ready for combat do you?" The leader of 64 squadron commented. It seemed that rumours about R Squadron had already spread in the other Squadrons, and it was fair to say the held R Squadron in very low regard.

"I think we'll let the numbers do the talking" Stuart responded. He was really going to enjoy showing this guy up.

"You sure" 64 responded, "Those old crates of yours aren't exactly Spitfires are they"

"It's not the tool but the workman" Stuart tried not to sound smug but failed. He did however succeed in his attempt to get 64 for to shut up. He switched the radio back to his own squadron "Alright lads the pressures on now, remember your training and don't take unnecessary risks"

'what's he mean by unnecessary?' Alvin wondered as he fastened his own respirator, fortunately he didn't have to wonder about it long.

"Krauts" Webb reported "Dead ahead and making for us"

Stuart nodded "I see them" he fixed his respirator over his mouth "Now remember these are Heinkel's not Stuka's, so for gods sake keep your distance. If they go up and you're too close you'll go up as well"

The memories of Spain were still clear in his mind. He had no intention of allowing these brave young chipmunks to share the same fate as those pilots who'd fought with him over Madrid, Guadalajara and Ebro.

For Alvin the closing Heinkel's created just as much apprehension but for entirely different reasons. Despite the fact that they were facing a much larger force than they had yesterday he found he wasn't as worried about himself as he had been, rather he was more worried about the two wingmen he was now responsible for. "Jackson, Scott, stay close to me"

"Roger"

"Understood"

Stuart led his squadron like some kind of Napoleonic cavalry commander in a headlong charge. The hurricanes holding their fire until the last possible second then opened up on the enemy bombers. The .303 machine guns blazed for only a few seconds at the leading bombers scoring a few hits but failing to cause any major damage.

The Heinkel front gunners were caught unawares; they had not been expecting a head on charge. Before they could respond, R Squadron broke formation, each section flying off in a different direction.

It had been a textbook manoeuvre but all too quickly, it went horribly wrong.

* * *

Simon swirled a small metal teaspoon round in his equally small metal mug filled with quickly cooling tea. His eyes scanning over the report he was halfway through typing. It all seemed to make sense, so he could safely bet that he had managed to translate that horrendous looking scrawl that Stuart called handwriting.

All the same, something was wrong.

Feeling more than a little frustrated, he laid the spoon down on his desk and raised the mug to his lips, taking a quick sip.

Whilst frustration was rapidly becoming his standard state of mind, it was not often that Simon found it hard to concentrate yet this was one such occasion.

He was worried, concerned and worse, feeling useless. The sole reason why he had come here was to keep his older brother out of trouble, yet what was he doing? Sitting here, sipping tea and writing reports whilst Alvin was out there, possibly fighting for his life.

He had never felt this useless in his entire life. Perhaps he should have a word with Stuart once they got back. He seemed like a reasonable enough guy after all.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he paid next to no attention to the distant thudding sound as it became steadily louder. He continued hitting at the keys of his typewriter, watching as the tiny hammers struck the paper leaving a trail of jet black letters behind them. After completing the final section of the report, he hit down on the full stop key. Feeling pleased with himself, despite his frustration, he paused in his work once again reaching a paw over to his mug.

As he raised the steel mug to his lips, he suddenly froze, finally becoming aware of the loud thudding sound from outside as it was joined by a prolonged loud wailing noise. Simon found his blood running cold as he realised what the noise was and what it meant.

* * *

Alvin found himself surrounded by whizzing bullets and the shouts of his fellow pilots before he saw anything threatening.

"Yellow nosed Buggers above us" Mitchell shouted with tangible fear in his voice.

Now Alvin could see them. The sun was glaring in his eyes, partially blinding him, but now it had been pointed out he could just make out several black blobs charging down at him.

This was the single moment Stuart had feared more than any other.

This single moment was the one Alvin had sought after. It was the moment where the Chipmunks finally got to test their metal against real fighter pilots.

The 109's dived down onto R squadron just as the Chipmunks had on the Stuka's the other day, The only difference being that these German pilots were not inexperienced amateurs. These were battle-hardened veterans; they had seen action over Poland, Denmark, Norway, the Low Countries, France and now Britain. They were professionals, they were veterans, they knew what they were doing.

Their aircraft, that marvel of aviation design the Messerschmitt 109, vastly outclassed the chipmunks Hawker Hurricanes.

All these facts raced through Alvin's head as he watched the 109's closing on him, and all he could feel was the icy hand of fear slowly creeping its way up his spine.

A short burst of bullets clipped the edge of his wing, successfully bringing him back to reality. Angry at losing his head like that he jerked his control stick to one side, sending his hurricane swinging back to face the Heinkel's which looked almost stationary compared to the various fighters that shot back and forth across his vision. He could already see one Hurricane smoking; another flew past with a 109 on its tail.

It was not a battle but a massacre.

"64 we need support" Stuart called out over the radio.

"Sorry, but we've got our hands full"

"Theirs just no end to them" Mitchell exclaimed "Their everywhere"

They were outnumbered and outclassed; there was nothing else to it. It was beginning to look like Alvin's war would be over sooner than he thought. The Germans just seemed to have all the advantages.

It was a terrible fact that Alvin found hard to accept. He was used to being the best at everything he did that he found it so incredibly frustrating to be bested, or rather to know with absolute certainty that he'd been bested. Nevertheless it was a fact that was brutally rammed home as he watched bullets ripping into young Jackson's Hurricane. He found himself watching helplessly as the hurricanes engine burst into flames. With long yellow flames licking their way up the fuselage, the stricken fighter spiralled down towards the earth, exploding about halfway down.

In that second Alvin realised what a horrible mistake he had made. It had all seemed so simple when he'd joined up, he'd shoot down a few planes, win a few medals and be home before anyone missed him. He had just wanted some time to himself to clear his head. Now someone was dead and the worst part was, he knew Jackson wouldn't be the last.

It was in that moment that Alvin's baser instincts took over, when was the last time he had done what he was told anyway? To hell with his orders, no one else seemed to be dealing with the enemy fighters so it was up to him. He dived after the 109 that had crossed his vision earlier, chasing the beleaguered Hurricane.

The Luftwaffe pilot was not expecting much of a fight. These Hurricane pilots looked like they were as green as grass. As a result, they had missed the one major disadvantage of outclassing the enemy.

It made you overconfident.

As he tipped his plane back and forth trying to get the elusive Hurricane in his sights, a short volley of shots ripped into the fuselage of his 109 sending it spinning down it the earth just like Jacksons had.

"Alvin" It was Stuart's harsh voice "I told you to focus on the bombers" Although his voice was hard, it was obvious he sympathised with Alvin's actions

"Well no one else seemed to be doing anything about them"

A Heinkel exploded a second plummeted earthwards with one engine on fire. The whole sky seemed filled with buzzing planes. It was painfully clear that Stuart had far too much on his plate to worry about one fighter pilot, especially one who was actually doing a good job "You'll go on report for this" he bit back, again in a tone were it was obvious he didn't mean it.

He swung his Hurricane round narrowly missing a 109 that shot past. Instinctively he fired off a quick burst but knew it wouldn't hit. 'I must be getting old' Stuart muttered.

Another batch of 109's dived down from the clouds firing down on Alvin and Mitchell, on his wing. "There's more of them" Webb reported.

"Where are they all coming from?" another pilot, Blithe if Alvin wasn't mistaken, asked.

"Shit" Mitchell cried out "They've got my tail" panic was filling his voice as bullets zoomed past his cockpit "I can't shake them"

"I got them" Alvin shouted, bringing his hurricane into a sharp turn "Just hang on Mitchell"

"I can't shake them" Mitchell repeated, twisting his control stick in frustration "the bloody thing won't turn"

There was a 109 in front of him now. Swooping down low it loosed a sharp volley into his cockpit, the bullets tearing through the glass canopy and ripping into his body.

"Mitchell?" Alvin called. His hurricane had finally completed it's turn only for him to see Mitchells hurricane plummet to earth.

"Mitchell's down, I repeat Mitchell is down" Webb reported.

The 109 responsible burst into flames as Callahan launched a deadly strafe above it "one more jerry in hell" he laughed, but Alvin wasn't listening.

Mitchell was dead. His friend and companion since the day he'd joined up, the guy he laughed with, drank with, competed with was dead.

His joy and excitement at flying, his wonder at the freedom and beauty of flight was gone. Alvin couldn't take it. This isn't what he'd wanted. He wasn't ready for this.

Two pilots had died in as many minutes: Two friends, two comrades.

How many more? He wondered

The cold fear he had felt earlier was gone replaced a blind fury. Damn them, damn them all, he'd make them pay for what they'd done, he'd make them all pay.

Stuart however remained calm. He'd experienced this before, over Spain. Already his highly militarised brain was racing into action, working out strategies, calculating risks. One thing he was sure of, this wasn't working.

"Alright lad's change of plan Green and yellow sections you keep hitting those bombers, the rest of you we have to keep the 109's off their tails. 64 we're going to need all the support you can give us"

There was a quick chorus of Aye's and Rogers as the Chipmunks focused on the task ahead.

Alvin didn't waste any time with his new orders. Blinded by pure anger and sorrow he twisted his hurricane, firing as many rounds as he could into the first 109 he saw. He held down his trigger, not letting up for a second. All ideas of restraint, his training about conserving ammunition, the dos and don'ts of combat all flew out of his mind in this moment of pure and utter hatred.

Skilled as the German pilots were there was nothing he could do to escape this maelstrom of bullets. It was as if the Englanders had gone mad. As if their earlier training and discipline had suddenly been replaced with an unquenchable desire to kill. Alvin's shots continued to pour into the 109 until it could take no more, it's wing tore in half and the helpless fighter plane spun away.

Alvin whooped at his victory. Another Kill to mark down, and with the deaths of Mitchell and Jackson still fresh in his mind, it felt good.

* * *

The battle over Dover had only lasted ten to fifteen minutes but it had nonetheless been the longest ten to fifteen minutes of Alvin's life. As the squadron brought their remaining Hurricanes back to Biggin Hill all the intense feelings that he'd experienced during the battle had gone and been replaced with only a dull pain in his stomach.

It only got worse when he actually saw the airfield, he could hardly believe his eyes.

The once idyllic green airstrip had been churned up and potholed like a Swiss cheese. Great plums of smoke were belching out of two of the wooden huts as they burned and the smashed smouldering wreck of one of the spare hurricanes lay in front of the hanger.

What the hell had happened?

The second he was down, he ripped of his flight helmet and sought out Simon. Despite his confusion and the destruction all around him, he wasn't hard to find.

He still couldn't understand how this could have happened. They had been shooting at bombers all day, their fuel tanks were almost empty, their ammunition spent.

How could they hope to win if they couldn't even defend their own airfield?

The human ground crew were doing the best they could under the circumstances, some dashed back and forth with stretchers some empty others full, some were by the burning huts armed with pumps and hoses trying to stop the flames from spreading, another group was approaching the newly landed Hurricanes with the large Bedford fuel trucks in tow. With no fuss or upset, they went about their work, feeding fuel into the Hurricanes tanks and ammo into its wings. Alvin couldn't help but feel a certain pride at the aircrew, their airfield had been smashed yet they carried on without complaint. He guessed this must be that 'stiff upper lip' he'd heard about.

His thoughts quickly shifted back to his brother. If anything had happened to him Alvin wasn't sure how he would cope.

He found Simon standing, looking dazed his face blank, staring down into one of the air raid trenches.

Without looking up, he answered Alvin's unasked question "After you left they hit us, dozens of heavy bombers. They just wouldn't stop, and there was noting we could do"

Alvin looked down into the trench, what he saw made him feel queasy and weak at the knees.

"I managed to get to an air raid trench" Simon continued "It didn't stop them though" he finally looked up, but not at his brother "A bomb landed right beside us. One of the ground crew threw himself over me and shielded me from the blast" he paw clenched into a trembling fist "I didn't even know his name and he saved my life, he sacrificed himself"

His throat choked up Alvin tried to place a reassuring paw on his brothers shoulder

With nothing but anger in his eyes, Simon shoved his brother paw off his shoulder "Get away from me"

His paw falling back down by his side "Si" Alvin whispered, wishing he could apologise, that he could explain why this was so important to him, why Simon was so important to him, but he just couldn't.

"Just leave it Alvin" Simon snapped, "I just don't care anymore. I've been patient, I've been kind, I've tried to be helpful but no matter what I do you always just push me away" he was almost shouting now "And now I'm in the middle of a fucking war; I was almost killed today" he moved so close to his brother that Alvin could feel his breath on his face.

Behind the glasses Simon's eyes were blazing with fire, he had never been this angry before. It was as if all the years of arguments and disagreements had just been condensed into a single shout.

The straws had been building up for years and finally the camels back had broken.

"And you know what the worst part is? It's all your fault" Alvin couldn't bring himself to look at his brother. It was all true, and he hated himself for admitting it. "I'm only here because I was worried about you, but you only care about yourself. Medals and glory for Alvin, screw everyone else," Simons voice finally reached a crescendo and he roared into his brothers face "WELL YOU CAN GO TO HELL"

Alvin just stood there in a complete and utter daze. It was as if the ground had just opened up from beneath him.

"ALV IN" Stuart called from his position by the Hurricanes. It was another Scramble, they had only landed to reload and refuel.

As he watched Simon walk back to his hut he was torn between his brother and his duty. He wanted to run after him, wanted to tell him what how he felt, how much he meant to him, how sorry he was that he'd got him involved in all this. He wanted to tell him that he loved him, more than anyone should love their brother. How his smile lightened up his day, and how his shouts made him die a little on the inside.

But he knew he couldn't, he just couldn't.

Wiping back a tear of desperation, he turned back towards his squadron and his Hurricane.

And away from his brother.


	5. After the Storm

Wow, chpater 4 already. I'll admit than when I started this story I was a little iffy about whether it was any good or whether it was just silly, but thanks to you guys and your great feedback I've kept at it.  
Thank's guy's your the best.  
but enough talk, on with the Chapter

* * *

_Next to a battle lost, the saddest thing is a battle won_

Sir Arthur Wellesley, The Duke of Wellington 1815

* * *

_Dear Mr and Mrs Mitchell_

_It is with the greatest__ sadness and utmost sympathy that I must inform you that your son, Pilot Officer Peter Mitchell, R Squadron, Royal Canadian Chipmunk Air force, was killed in action over Dover on the morning of August 13__th__ 1940. _

_Although our squadron is small and only recently formed, Peter had already displayed himself to be both an able pilot and a popular and lively officer. __In the short time that the squadron has been in service your son quickly won the favour and friendship of those around him._

_I believe that I speak for the entire squadron when I say there is not one of us who will not share your grief at your son's death._

_His courage and sacrifice in the line of duty will not be forgotten and his absence from the squadron will be sorely missed. _

_Yours with deepest regrets_

_ Lieutenant Simon Seville, R Squadron RCCAF_

* * *

The day was over, Britain had remained free and as of yet no Germans had landed on the 'Green and Pleasant land' so today at least the RAF had triumphed. Today was a victory.

Only it didn't feel like a victory. In the officer's mess of R Squadron there was no singing, no celebration of any kind, Only a sombre and subdued silence. The officers each sat on their own, with only their pint s and thoughts for company. They exchanged no stories or jokes. There were no tales of valour or daring, no one boasted of their impressive feats during the battle, or competed to see just who had shot down the most krauts.

Instead, they kept to themselves, each keeping a weary eye on the three empty chairs by the blacked out windows. It was almost as if they expected their former occupants to waltz through the door at any minute and laugh the whole thing off.

But everyone knew they wouldn't.

Christopher Jackson, Phillip Blithe and Peter Mitchell, They were R squadrons fist casualties, all three had been young, happy and had promising futures, and now they were dead. All three of them, killed in a single day.

A fourth pilot, Sean Moore, had been wounded, Seven Human ground crew were dead and eleven more wounded. It was a truly grim casualty list, and one that Simon had only narrowly missed appearing on.

It was a thought that he did not enjoy dwelling on, Then again who did enjoy thinking about a near death experience, particularly one as scaring and gruesome as the one Simon had endured.

Much like the other members of the squadron he was currently sitting hunched over the heavy oak bar that ran right across the mess, a scattering of papers in front of him. His left paw was supporting his head as he leant on the bar, making him the perfect image of a munk with several problems on his mind. His second paw hovered slightly above the bar whilst his fingers beat a swift tattoo on its surface.

His eyes meanwhile where fixed mournfully on the glass of orange juice in front of him, as if he could somehow absorb the liquid through his eyes. This action, like many of his arguments with Alvin, was proving ultimately futile.

"It's a bad business," Stuart said softly offering Simon a drink, which Simon politely refused with a curt shake of his head "Damn bad business"

At that, Simon could only nod in agreement. Those three very simple words perfectly summed up the entire days combat.

He was of course half-expecting Stuart to launch off on some speech about how 'this sort of thing wouldn't happen in my day' or inform him of some grand scheme that he'd come up with in Spain to counter the German bombers, yet no such wisdom or insights were forthcoming.

Simon raised his head off his supporting paw letting out a long despairing sigh "I suppose we can just be thankful they didn't hit the fuel dump. If that went up" he took a short drink from his glass "Well, a couple of hundred gallons of high octane fuel exploding; you don't need much of an imagination to suppose what that would be like"

Returning the glass to the bar, he carefully slid one of the papers across the bar for Stuart to inspect "I take it this is a list of the damages?" Stuart asked as he picked up the paper and peered down his nose at it

Simon nodded. He had no further need for the paper, the damages had already been seared into his head "Seven ground crew killed, part of the barracks destroyed, four hurricanes lost and they destroyed the cook house"

The last made a faint smile spread across Stuart's face "Thank god for small mercies eh" He laid the list back down onto the bar, lifting his glass again in he same movement. He gently swirled the scotch in his paw, watching as it splashed against the sides of the glass "Has Alvin spoken to you?"

Simon scoffed "I hardly think that's important right now sir"

"On the contrary" Stuart's voice remained eerily low "The whole squadrons morale has been shattered and Alvin's is the worst out of the lot" he tried to keep his tome professional "He's a good pilot Simon, I'm going to need him at his best if we're to have any chance of winning this"

Simon raised his orange juice to his lips "Has he spoken to you?" he inquired, apparently unconvinced by Stuarts speech

Stuart just shook his head "doesn't have to" he downed the last of the scotch in a single gulp "It's bloody obvious to everyone that Alvin's as down as you can get. Him and Mitchell were very close friends you see" he kept gazing at the empty glass in his paws "It's pretty tough when your friends get killed" he added in a tone that suggested he was speaking with the voice of experience "Would it help if he said he was sorry?" he persisted, refusing to let the matter drop.

Simon stoically shook his head "I'm afraid me and Alvin are way past sorry"

Stuart glanced questioningly at Simon's orange juice "You sure you don't want something stronger?"

"No thanks, I don't drink, sir" Simon responded simply

Now that surprised Stuart "Why the hell would you join up if you don't drink?" he laughed cheerfully to himself. "Hell in Spain you had to get the whole squadron plastered before they'd even step near those flying death traps". He pointed a single finger at Simon whilst still gripping the empty glass in his paw "No sane man goes to war sober" he slid the glass back onto the bar "I'm pretty sure someone said that, if they didn't I'll take credit for it"

He rose from his chair, both paws rummaging through his pockets as he did so "I'm going for a smoke" he looked again to Simon "You staying here?"

Simon nodded "Yeah, I'm afraid I don't smoke either"

Stuart's grin widened "You know Simon, if there were more people like you, we wouldn't be in this bloody mess"

* * *

Alvin Seville was feeling little better than his younger brother. In truth, he didn't know what to think right now. Obviously he was glad that Simon had survived the days combat with no physical scars, hell glad didn't even begin to describe it.

Even the harsh and cruel words that Simon had used hadn't marred the warmth that he felt in his brothers presence. It was a wonderful feeling that he could only describe as bliss; no other word came close.

But despite the warm feeling he had inside, a feeling he had joined up to get rid of, Alvin was spent. Early mornings, late nights and now the emotional burden of knowing he had brought his younger brother into a life and death situation had all taken their toll.

He knew that today had been a victory for the allies. The Germans had been beaten back and judging from what he had already heard on the wireless the krauts had also lost a lot more aircraft, so they'd won this day. Yet despite this Alvin felt no triumph, no pleasure at all, just a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach right next to the irritating warm glow that refused to budge.

It was not difficult for him to guess as to what had caused the sickly feeling in his guts, the bitter reality of war had been hammered home to him today and it had come at a terrible cost.

Alvin had never faced death before and now it had come to one of his friends, a young munk filled with life and with a bright future in front of him had been cut down in his prime. He just didn't know how much more of this he could take.

He was physically and mentally exhausted and there seemed to be no end, to either the battle or his personal problems, in sight. The great plan that he'd worked out months ago hadn't achieved a goddamn thing except making things infinitely worse. It had put both him and his brother in mortal danger and driven them further and further apart to the point where Simon wouldn't even speak to him.

The whole situation seemed to be spiralling out of control and Alvin knew that he was the only person who could make things right again, the only problem being he didn't have a clue how he was going to do that.

He was beginning to wish that the ground would just open up beneath him and swallow him up. At least that way he wouldn't be able to hurt the people he loved anymore.

His gloomy mood wasn't improved any by the arrival of Callahan, who plonked himself down on the empty chair beside Alvin.

Whilst it was true that Alvin had once classed Callahan as a friend, the more he had got to know about the thin faced Chipmunk the less he had liked. He had shown himself to have almost no likable qualities at all.

In fact since they had arrived in Britain Alvin had tried his utmost to avoid Callahan whenever possible, yet in a small squadron of only a dozen pilots it was proving as impossible to avoid Callahan as it was to avoid Simon.

He didn't get along with Callahan at the best of time and it had been a long time indeed since Alvin had had a good time.

"And why are you looking so sad?" Callahan slurred in an almost disturbingly cheerful tone considering all that had happened today.

The Officers mess was not somewhere that a person could go to get drunk. For several reasons that Alvin, in all honesty, wasn't really interested in, the only beer served here was 'Bitter' Although he was no expert on beer, Alvin had heard that it was nigh impossible to get properly drunk on just 'Bitter', but credit where it's due Callahan appeared to have managed it "I mean we won today" Callahan continued. He raised his glass "So, here's to victory"

He downed most of the remnants of his pint, the rest splashing down his shirt, before giving Alvin a good hearty slap on the back. A slap the only succeeded in provoking a scowl from Alvin, who did not share Callahan's good spirits.

"Somehow I doubt that Jackson, Blithe or Mitchell would agree with you" Alvin bit back

Callahan smiled, almost cruelly as he spoke "No I don't think they would" he lent closer and whispered softly in Alvin's ear "But what are they going to do about it?"

"It may have escaped your notice" Alvin began, his voice steadily rising "But their dead, and the least you could do is show some goddamn respect"

Callahan snorted "Come of it Alvin. I know their dead and it's a damn shame" he dropped his glass back onto the bar with a heavy thump "but we bagged a dozen of the bastards in return, so in my book we came out on top" he lent closer again, until Alvin could smell the alcohol on his breath "And that's all that matters"

A thousand insults and retorts shot through Alvin's mind in an instant, but none of them would have done justice to the naked fury and revulsion he was feeling. In the end he could only bring himself to give Callahan a look of utter disgust and contempt before leaving the officer mess, all his previous feelings had been replaced. He no longer felt any soft glow in his stomach, or pain at the death of Mitchell.

Callahan's words had enraged him more than he had thought possible. The thought that somebody could possibly place victory above the lives of their friends and companions was one that he just couldn't understand and one that left him physically sick to his stomach.

* * *

Alvin left the officers mess, stepping out from the warm and brightly lit interior to the dark empty airfield. He was feeling more angry than he could remember, certainly more angry than he had ever been towards a single person before. He was convinced that, had he stayed in there even for another second he would have hit Callahan. He knew it would have been a stupid thing to do and wouldn't have achieved anything, but boy he knew it would have felt good.

It was only after a few minutes in the dark that Alvin realised that the airfield wasn't as empty as he had thought it would be.

He had not been expecting to see anyone else outside tonight and it surprised him greatly to see Stuart leaning against the huts wooden wall, a freshly lit cigarette smouldering away between his lips.

"It's not what you expected" Stuart asked bleakly "Is it?"

Alvin shook his head, falling back until he was leaning up against the wall, as he struggled to get his thoughts and feelings in order.

Stuart took a long draw on his cigarette, making the tip glow bright red in the otherwise dark airfield

"You smoke?" he asked, twisting his head in Alvin's direction whilst simultaneously reaching for the cigarette case in his top pocket. Alvin shook his head. He appeared to have found himself in the unusual position of being unable to find anything to say.

Stuarts mouth stretched into a grin, spoilt only by the cigarette which had begun to drupe as a result of his smile "Good, it's a filthy habit" he pulled the cigarette from his lips, his eyes running up and down it's length as he did so. "I've been meaning to give up for years now, but when you consider that I could die tomorrow, I've just never seen the point"

He glanced back in Alvin's direction and his smile quickly faded into a more serious expression "It gets easier" he said, in his best reassuring tone. "That's what they told me, and from my experience I suppose it's true"

Alvin had no response to that so remained silent, an action that was rather unusual for him.

"After a while you become desensitised to it" he let out a brief puff of smoke that was hardly visible in the gloom "I'll leave it up to you to decide if that's a good thing or not"

Alvin finally spoke, he knew what he had to ask "I heard that you served in Spain during the civil war" Stuart nodded, one paw holding the cigarette by his side, the other stuffed in a pocket "Did you lose many pilots?"

A moment's silence, and despite the darkness that surrounded both of them Alvin could swear that he saw Stuarts lip tremble. As quickly as he had noticed it, it stopped and Stuart placed the cigarette back in his mouth "You bet I did" he said grimly "There were twenty-two of us at the start, from all over the place. French, Brits, Russians, Germans, Spanish" he let out a soft scoff "Even a few of you isolationist Yanks" he drew on the cigarette again, a few flecks of ash dropping off the tip "I lost them all, one by one"

Alvin paused; it was almost as if the Stuart in front of him was not the same one that he had come to know. Before today, he had always been so cheerful and lively but this, this was a side of him he had never seen before.

Was it really possible that he had seen all of his friends killed in action?

"Did you always feel like this?" Alvin continued after his brief pause

Stuart's face remained expressionless "How do you feel?" he asked, knowing he had to tread carefully, whilst also aware that Alvin had to ask these questions.

In response Alvin ceased leaning against the wall and shuffled slightly closer, both his paws stuffed into his pockets "I feel…" he paused, gazing off into the darkness. How did he feel? "Sick… and hollow"

Stuart nodded reassuringly "Good" the waved the cigarette in Alvin's direction leaving a faint trail of smoke in its path "You should feel that way, it hurts now but trust me it's for the best. If you didn't feel that way then you'd end up like Callahan" his eyes seemed to narrow slightly as he spoke and his voice was tinged with anger "A heartless prick who only lives for the thrill of killing"

He took a third long drag of the cigarette, now little more than a glowing stump "You just have to accept that their dead and move one, understand that there's nothing you can do about it and get on with life"

Alvin ran a despairing paw through his hair as he felt his voice wavering "I can't though. I just keep thinking" he looked straight into his commanders' eyes, pleading with him to understand "What if I'm next?"

Stuart shrugged "I'm afraid there's not much a can do about that. It's a natural reaction" he removed the cigarette for the last time "I can only give you one piece of advice. The fist thing my commander in Spain told me when I first joined up" he dropped the smouldering stub onto the ground and stamped it out with his bare footpaw "The second you join up, you're already dead"

Alvin shook his head, collapsing back against the wall. He threw his head back and looked up at the clear night sky and the numberless stars that glittered down upon him "I don't know if I can do that"

Stuart moved over to join him "That's because you have something to live for Alvin, and it stares you straight in the face every morning. A constant reminder of all the hurt that'll happen if you die"

Alvin's brow furrowed and he looked confusingly at Stuart "What do you mean?"

Stuart sighed, he was going to make him spell it out wasn't he "Simon" he said at long last "I know that he means much more to you than a brother should, and that you have feelings for him that you don't want to admit"

Alvin's jaw dropped. He could hardly believe what Stuart had just said. How could he possibly know about the way he felt towards Simon? Was it really, that obvious that everyone could see it?

Even though the darkness Stuart could see Alvin's shocked expression, and it made him smile "Don't look so surprised. When you've been around as long as I have and seen as many things as I've seen you learn to read people pretty well" he looked back up at the stars overhead "It didn't take to long to work it out"

"Was it really that obvious?" Alvin could barely find his voice but managed to force a few words out.

Stuart shook his head "Not to most people. I just found it unusual that when you fist saw him on the airfield you didn't seem happy or angry with him. That added to the fact that you've been ignoring or avoiding him ever since he arrived and you've been completely incapable of keeping eye contact with him" he looked back down at Alvin, with a cheeky smile spread across his face "Did I miss anything?"

Feeling defeated now that his terrible secret was out, Alvin slumped back against the wall. He had no idea what to say again. Had he really been that transparent with his feelings? What was worse if Stuart had worked it out then was it possible that…

Oh god, how he longed for the day when this whole thing would be over and he could get back to his old life, when things could go back to the way they used to be.

As it was he couldn't bring himself to look up at his commanding officer "I disgust you don't I?" he asked in a voice of utter defeat and despair that barely rose above a whisper.

Stuarts face twisted into an angry sneer "Don't be so damn stupid" he snapped back "I'd hoped you'd have a better opinion of me by now" Alvin still couldn't look at him as he continued "I judge a man by his actions Alvin. Nothing else makes the blindest bit of difference. The idea that you can judge entire groups of people by what they believe or" he paused "Who they love is sheer bollocks"

"I do love him" Alvin said sadly, "I know I shouldn't but I can't help it"

Stuart shifted slightly where he stood, both paws still firmly in his pockets "I don't think anyone can. Love's not the kind of feeling you can just switch on or off, and there's no way for you to choose who you fall in love with. It's a natural emotion and one that we have next to no control over" He looked over his shoulder at Alvin, who was still gazing up at the stars "No matter how hard you try or how long you avoid him, the feelings not going to go away"

"But I shouldn't feel this way" Alvin bemoaned "It's illegal"

Stuart couldn't deny that fact. He could despise it and disagree with it all he wanted but he could not deny its existence.

It was a law that he could not understand and one that always made him depressed when he thought about it. Here he was fighting for the second time against oppression and intolerance, yet back home a man could be arrested and imprisoned simply for loving another man.

The very idea of it went against everything he believed in. It was his unshakeable belief that no one had the right to dictate to you how you should live your life.

For the first time that night, Stuart found himself lost for words. There was nothing he could say to Alvin tonight that could change the law.

Alvin slumped further down the wall. This was all happening to fast and he still didn't have a clue what he was supposed to do. "This isn't what I was expecting, it wasn't meant to be like this"

Stuart shook his head "Very few things ever turn out the way we expect, it's best to knuckle down and just get on with life rather than constantly wonder what could have been or what should have been"

A silence fell between the two

After a few seconds had passed, Stuart spoke again "You should talk to him you know"

Alvin shook his head "I can't, he'd hate me" and despite the pain he was feeling he couldn't help a short laugh from escaping "What am I saying, he already hates me"

"He doesn't hate you Alvin" Stuart's voice remained neutral as he slumped down beside him "Today was Simon's first view of combat as well, his first sight of death, and that's one hell of an experience for anyone to get through"

Alvin proceeded to hold his head in his paws as Stuart continued "I'll admit I've only known you're brother a fraction of time you have, But from what I've seen he's an intelligent and understanding guy"

He tried to offer Alvin a reassuring look, but the younger Chipmunk wasn't even looking at him "Besides" he went on "If you don't tell him, it'll just keep eating you up from the inside"

He rose from the floor, straightened his tunic and made for the door. Before returning to the mess he turned back to Alvin one last time "If you say nothing you'll constantly be asking yourself What if and trust me there's nothing worse than that"

With those last few words, Alvin found himself alone in the darkened airfield.

Alone with his thoughts, which was after all what he had wanted all along.


	6. Painful Revelations

Ok, so I wasn't all that happy with the original chapter 6, and after spending a whole week working on chapter 7 I decided I wasn't all that happy with the way the story was going in general. so I have changed the ending and rewritten the end of chapter 6  
I hope you guys like this version much better (PS, chapter 7 should be up soon, fingers crossed)

* * *

August 15th

Back home in California Simon Seville had spent many a sleepless night sitting on the roof looking up at the stars. No matter how stressed or angry he may have been it had always succeeded in allowing him to clear his head and make him feel better at the same time, besides which, it was the greatest cure in the world for insomnia.

Luckily, for him the view of the night sky from the massive aircraft hanger doors was much the same as the one from his bedroom roof. He was sure that there were many differences in the constellations from this angle, but it was so damn beautiful that he just didn't care. It was one of those few simple pleasures in life where he allowed himself to leave the budding scientist behind and just be a normal Chipmunk.

Tonight the sky above him was completely clear, no clouds dared to obscure the myriad stars above his head, and the full moon glowed brightly like a massive eye watching over the airfield from heaven.

He had often heard people say thing like there was an answer to all life's mysteries and problems in the stars; of course being an up-and-coming scientist, he had never paid much heed to those stories. None the less he did have to admit that those distant specks of light did seem to have some strange relaxing, almost hypnotic, power; he had no way to explain it, it was just there.

Indeed the only thing that marred the otherwise perfectly clear night sky was the knowledge that, with light as good as this, the Germans might try night raids; and that was a thought he did not relish.

Being bombed in the daytime had been bad enough; the screaming, the flat drone of the siren, fires and explosions everywhere he turned. Then there was the smell afterwards. The horrific stench of burnt flesh, mixed with the sickly sweet odour of death, was something he would never be able to forget, something that would haunt him to the grave.

He had lived through one day-raid, he prayed he would never have to see another, but the thought of all that happening in the dark was something he didn't even want to contemplate.

He must have been out here for a good hour, just staring at the stars, even though it had taken him only a few minutes to realise that even something he enjoyed as much as stargazing wouldn't be enough to cheer him up, not this time.

He was feeling the same as the rest of the squadron, as if he was rapidly approaching the breaking point.

Back home he remembered hearing some of Alvin's athletic friends talk about 'Hitting the wall' when you reach a point where, no matter how hard you try, you just can't go on. It was a term that he believed was a perfect description of a soldier's life. No matter who it was or what war they were fighting, there would always come the point where they could take no more.

It was a point that he was convinced the whole squadron was drawing perilously close to.

He himself had only just made it past the first days combat and he was one of the lucky ones. He had not fought, he had not lost any friends or suffered any injuries but unlike the others, he had not come here by choice. He had not felt any patriotic surge, or any strong desire to fight the Nazi's. Of course, he had heard some of the things they had done and he hated them for it, he believed vehemently, that what they were doing was wrong, but none of this changed the simple truth that this wasn't his war.

In truth he no longer cared why Alvin had joined up, even if he did it was obvious to all that Alvin would never tell him and he felt stupid for even trying. All he wanted now was to go home with Alvin and forget that this had ever happened, but it was too late for that.

He had followed his brother over a burning bridge and watched it collapse behind him.

Things could never go back to the way they were, no matter how hard he tried.

"Ah, you're a stargazer as well" Stuart's voice cut through the still night air, once again catching Simon off guard and causing him to jump once again, if only slightly this time.

Simon had guessed that after four days he should have become use to Stuart's annoying little habits, such as appearing out of nowhere with no warning except a quirky comment, but he hadn't. In fact all that they'd managed to do was get on his nerves; at least what little was left of them. Simon doubted his nerves would ever be the same again, especially after being shot to hell over the past few days.

"You know one of these days your habit of sneaking up on people is going to get you into a lot of trouble"

"Can I help it if your mind is constantly wandering?" he chuckled back "Besides, I'm just as surprised to see you" he offered as some sort of peace offering between them.

One that Simon was glad to accept. His friendship with Stuart was one of the few things that seemed to be working nowadays, even though he was still unsure just why he liked the guy so much.

Stuart continued to trudge over the cold dew soaked grass towards Simon. He kept his paws thrust deep into the pockets of his tunic, his hat perched jauntily over one ear and his eyes sparkling with good humour that was totally lost on Simon.

That was one of the things about Stuart that Simon just couldn't understand. When the squadron was on standby, he was cold and distant, yet the second they were off duty life and energy positively flowed from him. It was as if every time the squadron stood down somebody just flicked a switch inside of him.

Simon wondered what that must be like, to be able to turn your emotions on and off at your will. He supposed that was what came with prolonged military service. You adapt.

Or you break.

Stepping onto the hard concrete floor of the hanger Stuart lifted one leg at a time, feverishly brushing at his soaked footpaws "It's times like this I wish we had shoes" he muttered, more to himself than to Simon.

He had of course heard rumours that the RAF had planned to provide specially designed shoes to their 'Rodent' officers, but that the logistical problems and additional costs had outweighed any potential benefits, so the squadron's footpaws had been left as nature intended.

But Stuart had never been one to put much faith in rumours. He had learnt that lesson in Spain.

"So why are you up at this ungodly hour?" Stuart asked, standing firmly on both feet again

"I couldn't sleep" Simon offered rather lamely. He would never admit it but he'd been having trouble sleeping since the Thirteenth. He wondered if he would ever truly get over the events of that horrible day

"So why are you still up" he asked after taking in a long deep breath of night air "If you don't mind me asking"

"Same trouble" Stuart responded with a quiet sigh. He was now standing right beside Simon "things have bee too quiet these past few days, it's got me worried" he twisted his head towards Simon, seeking his administrative officers opinion on the matter "After the pounding they gave us on the thirteenth I'd expected them to be hitting us with everything they got"

Simon nodded; in truth, he was worried himself. Part of him was glad for the respite. He was well aware of how low morale had sunk after the first German attack; he had doubted if anyone in the squadron would have been able to do another scramble after that.

Despite this, he was more relieved on a personal level, he was happy that he had been, for the meantime at least, spared the painful and bitter task of writing letters of condolence.

Yet despite how much he may have wanted it, he knew this respite couldn't last. The Germans had given them a hard pounding and they didn't strike him as the kind of people who gave up easily. In fact, he got the feeling that they might not stop at all until the RAF was ground into the dirt and the Wehrmacht were marching up the horse guards parade.

"Perhaps we did more damage to them than we thought" Simon offered with optimism he didn't feel. He had heard on the wireless that the Germans had lost almost seventy-five planes during their attack, but he'd learnt to take wireless reports with a pinch of salt. Besides the reports he'd read had said the Germans had over two thousand aircraft, so even if they had lost seventy-five it would still only be a drop in the ocean.

"Well" Stuart said after a brief silence, "I guess there's not much we can do about it is there. Either they come or they don't"

He casually jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the cabin; the one that Simon spent most of the day in writing reports and letters "I was just on my way to have a quiet nightcap. Care to join me?" the moonlight glinting off his teeth as he grinned

"If it's all the same," Simon said with a pleasant smile "I think I'll stay here"

"Stargazing help you relax does it?" Stuart nodded "Well if you change your mind, you know where I'll be" he turned round and headed off into the dark.

* * *

Alvin had lost track of how long he had spent wandering the moonlit airfield. Last night he had actually managed to get a full night's sleep, his first one since he'd arrived ion Britain. Even though this had been more due to sheer exhaustion than anything else, it had still been nice to actually get some sleep.

Tonight however sleep was once again eluding him. He had wandered in and out of the huts, not really knowing where he was going, in a seemingly futile attempt to tire himself out. Besides, since he couldn't get to sleep there seemed little point in just lying around in bed all night.

He had heard voices earlier, and decided it would be best to avoid them. He wasn't in much of a conversation mood, besides with his luck nowadays it would most likely be Simon.

Mercifully, the voices had only lasted a few minutes and since they had stopped, he had heard nothing. That must have been about five minutes ago. He guessed that whoever it was must have been had gone by now.

With the airfield silent once more he continued on his wanderings. It wasn't long before he found himself slowly making his way round the massive aircraft hanger. To a human it was an impressive sight, towering above them, but to someone who was eight inches tall it was truly monumental in scale.

He had suspected that this area would be deserted, especially at this ungodly hour of the night.

It therefore surprised him greatly to find that somebody else was holding a moonlit vigil over the airfield. What was worse was that he quickly realised who it was, and as he did the surprise he had felt quickly turned to fear. It wasn't the same cold fear that he had felt in the cockpit as the 109's had dived down on him; this was much, much worse.

"I take it you can't sleep either" Simon stated, but by his tone Alvin could tell he didn't really care one way or the other. "I would have thought you'd have slept like a log, after all the excitement you've had" his voice was cruelly bitter, each word biting into Alvin more deeply than the last.

There was a painful silence before Simon spoke again, "I guess there's not much chance of us going home soon is there"

Alvin shook his head "I can't leave now" he said simply "It's not that simple anymore"

"Is this you being stubborn as usual, or do you actually have loyalty to someone other than yourself?" Simon asked, although by his tone Alvin could guess he wasn't really expecting an answer.

As depressed, as he was Alvin could still manage a scoff. Simon was hardly one to talk to him about stubbornness. He could not remember one instance of Simon admitting he was wrong. He guessed it was one of the few things they had in common.

"I guess it's a little of both" He murmured, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips

"I suppose I should have expected as much from you" Simon went on, either he had not heard what Alvin had said or, more likely, he was choosing to ignore him. "I mean it's been over a month and yet you're still too stubborn to answer the simplest of questions" he looked long and hard into his brothers defenceless brown eyes "Why?"

Alvin let out a brief but loud, frustrated sigh "Jesus Simon, why is that such a big deal? I made a mistake, OK, I was stupid and you were right I'm admitting that" he spread his paws wide, leaving himself open to his Brother "What else do you want?"

"I want you to be honest with me" Simon snapped back "I want to be able to know that my older brother is alright. I want you to stop treating me like the enemy"

"Why are you making such a big deal of this?" Alvin could hear his voice rising but was powerless to stop it.

Simon stopped leaning against the doors and jabbed an angry thumb at himself "I'm not the one making a big deal about it. I just want to know what is so goddamn important that you wouldn't even talk to your own brother about it"

"Oh I'm sorry" Alvin bit back, layering on the sarcasm as thickly as he could "I didn't realise that I had to tell you everything"

The anger was steadily building up in Simon again "Well when it involves both of us in life or death situations, then yes I'd like to be informed about it"

"Oh come of it Simon" Alvin snapped back, his patience and self control gone "I didn't ask you to come, in fact I told you to stay back home, and now ever since you've been here you've been whining and complaining like some sorry little victim"

Simon wasn't about to give up yet "I came here to look out for you. To make sure you came home in one piece" he thrust a paw back at himself "Because that's what brothers are supposed to do, look out for each other"

"Ah of course" Alvin bit back pretending as if everything had just become clear "How silly of me. I should have known, stupid little Alvin can't do anything on his own can he" he threw his paws in the air "I'm not a fucking kid anymore Simon. I don't need you constantly looking over my shoulder"

"Well maybe if I was always looking over your shoulder then we wouldn't be in this mess" Simon's voice was beginning to get hoarse. He had never shouted like this before, hell they'd never fought like this before.

"I mean did you even think for one second about the effect this would have on me or Dave or Theo. Did you not think how worried we'd all be with you thousands of miles away fighting for your life?" Alvin was temporarily silenced as Simon took this opportunity to finally vent all the anger and resentment that had been building up in him for months "No you didn't, because you never think about anyone else do you. It's always all about you, medals and glory for Alvin and screw everyone else"

He went on each word cutting into his brother more deeply than any weapon the Germans could throw at him "It's always the same with you isn't it. So long as you get your way you don't care what happens to the people you love"

"That's not…" Alvin faltered "I don't just think about myself" he glared at Simon, hoping that he wouldn't see the tears welling up in his eyes "I'm here to stop the Germans invading, surely that's more important than a few peoples feelings" He had hoped it would be an impressive retort, but in his emotional state it ended up sounding rather feeble.

"Oh spare me the crap about fighting the good fight and for once in your life tell me the truth" Simon pleaded "I mean I'm your brother for gods sake and we both know you don't give a damn about protecting Britain or stopping Fascism"

He continued to glare at his brother "You wanted to be a hero, is that it. A few scars and some medals to impress the girls"

"That's not it" Alvin's voice was wavering and the tears were now flowing freely

"Then what is it" Simon demanded in the harshest voice he had ever used

"Don't you get it" Alvin sobbed, the tears rolling uncontrollably down his cheeks "It's you, I joined up because of you" he couldn't hold back anymore, he had finally lost his control "I joined R squadron to get away from you" he shouted the last two words with every once of strength in him. He wanted to make sure there would be no misunderstanding between them. Through no choice of his own, this would be the day of reckoning.

Simon could hardly believe what he was hearing, and despite the seriousness of all that had happened he found himself laughing "and just what is that supposed to mean?" he threw up his paws "You really hate me so much that you couldn't stand to be in the same country as me"

"I don't hate you" Alvin snapped, angered by his brothers amusement. Damn him, here he was pouring his heart out and all he could do was laugh "that's the whole problem"

"Stop talking in circles" the levity was gone from Simon's voice as he towered over his sobbing brother. He could hardly believe he was doing this. Alvin was his brother, and look at what he was doing to him. Simon could never have believed he was capable of such malice, but the anger within him was pouring out in an uncontrollable torrent. He was trying to stop himself, but his emotions were now in complete control.

He wanted to hold Alvin, to reassure him, to wipe away his tears and tell him that everything would be all right, but he was far too angry for that. He had lost control to his emotions, and there was nothing he could do.

Alvin wiped at his eyes with a trembling paw "Don't you see Simon, don't you realise what you do to me"

Simon shook his head, his anger receding with every tear that ran down Alvin's cheeks. What had he done? what could he possibly have done to make his brother like this?

"Every time I'm near you I get this warm feeling inside and I can't help smiling. When you're gone there's this…this lump at the bottom of my stomach, like some sort of lead weight chained to my heart. When you laugh I'm ecstatic, when you cry I feel like I'm dying"

Simon did not like what he was hearing, he found himself backing away from his brother, not wanting to hear anymore "no" he said simply, his previous anger all but evaporated, replaced by a growing sense of trepidation "No"

"I love you Simon, More than a brother should" his spread his paws wide, the tears rolling down his cheeks sticking the dampened fur into small clumps "I know I shouldn't but I can't help it"

"No, no, no" Simon whimpered shaking his head "no you… you don't mean that, you're…you're angry. You don't know what you're saying"

Alvin took a step towards his brother who instantly stepped back "Why can't you understand. I love you"

"DON'T SAY THAT," Simon roared, his paws clamping round his head as if he was trying to think "Please don't say that"

Alvin took another step towards his brother reaching out a paw, pleading with his brother to stay, just to be with him. But all Simon did was back away again. He continued to hold his head in his paws as if he was desperately trying to think but nothing was coming "Do you have any idea what this means? Do you realise its illegal" Simon's voice was wavering now, but was now far from angry. Why would Alvin make something up like that? How could he lie to him like this?

"Why do you think I didn't tell you" Alvin stopped moving towards his brother and lowered his head "I thought if I just ignored these feelings then they might go away; That I'd stop feeling like this but I can't" he looked up pleadingly into his brothers eyes, now more than ever needing him; just as a brother this time.

Simon said nothing now. What was he thinking? Why wouldn't he say anything?

Alvin blinked back fresh tears as he waited and waited for Simon to say something.

When he said nothing Alvin found himself unable to take anymore. He snapped round and ran off as fast as he could back to his hut. He didn't dare look back, he couldn't; It was too painful.

* * *

Simon once again watched as his brother disappeared into the night, only this time he didn't follow him. In fact for several minutes he didn't do anything, as the enormity of what had just happened began to sink in.

Why had he been so angry? The fact that Alvin was gay hadn't bothered him, it had been a surprise sure, but Simon had nothing against gay people and certainly nothing against Alvin. So why had he reacted the way he had?

Was he simply angry at the fact that he and Alvin had lost touch with each other so drastically that a secret as big as this could have emerged between them? Or was it that he WAS genuinely angry at Alvin, not because of his feelings or sexuality, but because he hadn't trusted Simon enough to tell him how he felt?

In many ways that thought hurt much more than anything Alvin had said to him. He had known for a while that he and Alvin had been drifting further and further apart but he would never have imagined it was this bad.

Thinking about that left him feeling hollow. Here he was worried that he and Alvin were not as close as they used to be, and yet how had he spent the last few days; by pushing and pushing Alvin until he had reached the breaking point. It was no wonder Alvin didn't trust him enough to talk to him.

Why had he acted like that? Where had all that cruelty come from? He was supposed to be the smart one and yet he had never seen anyone act as fucking stupid as he just had.

In fact he could only think of one thing that he could be glad of right now, and that was that Alvin was finally telling him the truth, if grudgingly. After all, having a homosexual crush on your brother was hardly the sort of story he would make up. That fact at least meant that Alvin was opening up to him again. He just wished it had come about some better way.

He had thought he was being a good brother; that he was just looking out for his elder sibling but he realised now he had been doing the complete opposite.

And standing in the pitch black, outside the dark and imposing aircraft hanger, he vowed that he would repair all the damage he had done.

He wasn't sure how, but he was determined that he would make up for what he'd done to Alvin.

* * *

Well was that better or worse?  
Like I said chapter 7 should be up soon but in the meantime reviews, comments and/or critisims are gladly welcomed


	7. Iris

Well I've revealed one of my worst habits, i.e. naming a chapter after a song I listened to whilst writing it. In this case it's the brilliant song by the Goo Goo Dolls which I felt went really well with the Chapter.

* * *

_And I don't want the world to see me_

'_Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When __everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

John Rezeznik

* * *

August 15th

It was truly a strange day when Theodore Seville didn't know how he should be feeling, even if he wasn't that great at expressing how he felt he at least always knew how he was feeling. Today however was one day that he didn't and it was worrying him.

On the surface at least he supposed he should be happy, more than supposed, he should definitely be happy. It was an astonishingly beautiful evening in LA. It was those lovely few minutes just before dark that he had grown so fond of, where everything was quiet and the sun was only just starting to set, turning the sky into a breathtaking mix of pinks oranges and yellows.

That in itself should have been reason enough for him to be happy, but there was more. He was walking down the street with one paw wrapped carefully around someone else's, and that someone else was Eleanor. What more could he possibly want?

In the past it had proved to be the case that Eleanor's mere presence was enough to brighten up his day. She was just one of those people that seemed to give off a calming aura, the sort of person it was impossible to be unhappy near. When he was near her he felt unstoppable, as if there was nothing he couldn't do, and nothing that could make him feel down.

As if all that wasn't enough, they had just spent what could easily class as the perfect evening together. He had taken her out for a meal at the new restaurant that had just opened near the town centre, after that he'd taken her to the cinema. Sure they had both already seen Pinocchio before but there was no law against seeing a film twice.

It had in fact been such a good evening that Theodore had managed to work up the courage to place an arm round Eleanor's shoulders during the film. That was not something he would usually do, and quite frankly it was something Eleanor had been waiting a long time for.

There was no getting around it, he was in love; More than that he was in love with and dating the girl of his dreams.

So why wasn't he happy? It wasn't really that much of a question as the answer was blatantly obvious, even to Eleanor.

"Is something the matter?" Eleanor asked, catching him a little off guard. They had been walking in silence for a while now. At first she had assumed that he was simply enjoying the tranquil air and quiet around them, but as they had neared her house she had began to suspect there was some other reason for his silence. Something was bothering him, and Eleanor hated it when Theo was bothered by something.

"You're worried about Alvin and Simon aren't you" she said, answering her own question. She had never really been one for dancing around problems, or even delicate matters; she didn't see the point. If somebody had a problem then there was nothing to gain by keeping it to themselves; that was her belief and it had served her well so far.

Theodore nodded, accepting the fact that there was nothing that he could keep from her "I just don't understand how they could just leave like that" he looked down at his footpaws as he kicked a small stone, seemingly ignoring it as it bounced along the pavement "I mean I could believe this sort of thing from Alvin" he went on, deciding to lay all his cards on the table at once "but not Simon. He'd just not the kind of person who'd run off without a word"

Eleanor could agree with that, Simon was a stickler for rules and organisation. He wasn't the sort of person to just take off without a carefully executed plan. Besides he must have known what a burden it would put on Theodore, and that was something she couldn't imagine Simon was capable of.

"Maybe he just wanted to make sure Alvin was alright" she offered. It wasn't totally implausible but it did seem a little farfetched that Simon would take off without telling Dave, or even Theo.

Theo could only shake his head slowly "I'd like to believe that Eleanor" he said gloomily "but I just get the horrible feeling that all their doing is fighting" he hung his head "All they seem to do nowadays is fight"

Eleanor hated seeing Theodore like this. He was just such a kind and thoughtful person, it was just plain wrong that he should be hurt like this.

Eleanor could have sworn that she felt Theodore's paw tighten slightly around hers as they spoke. Hoping it would comfort him, she squeezed back as gently as she could

"Theodore" she said after a while, her voice flowing with the confidence she always seemed to show "you are the nicest, kindest and most gentle person I have ever known. You know that I would never lie to you"

The worry and upset that he had been feeling began to fade as his face began to turn red under Eleanor's kind words. He nodded, hoping it would be enough to hide his blushing

"and I'm telling you now; everything will be fine. I'm positive of that"

Forgetting himself for a brief moment Theodore threw caution to the wind he lent as close to Eleanor as he could and planted a soft peck on her cheek "I'm glad your still here Ellie" he said with his old smile back "I don't know what I'd do without you"

* * *

Several thousand miles away from their worried brother and their home, neither Alvin nor Simon Seville were getting any sleep. Both had been kept awake by fear, fear that their brotherly bond was finally gone; both were upset at themselves for what had happened that night and both wished fervently that they had acted differently.

People said there was no point crying over spilt milk but when the milk in question was your relationship with your brother then you could be excused for being more than a little upset.

Simon couldn't sleep a wink, not after the way he had spoken to Alvin, not after the way he had treated him. The argument had gone far beyond any they had ever had before; his behaviour had been totally unacceptable and he was well aware of it.

He had been out off line and out of character; it was as simple as that.

Sleep continued to elude Alvin as well. How could he possibly sleep when his own brother must think he's some sort of freak. He was ashamed; ashamed of how he felt towards Simon and ashamed of what Simon must think of him now.

Why had this happened to him? Why couldn't he just be a normal guy? He'd dated plenty of girls in his time, so why was it that none of them made him anywhere near as good as when he was with Simon? Just what was it about his bespectacled sibling that made him so much more desirable than any girl he'd known? What was it he saw in those big blue eyes that made him feel the way he did?

Throughout the night both minds worked furiously trying to come up with plan to repair all the damage that had been done to their relationship last night. Both of them assured that they were the one's to blame, both convinced that the other would never want to speak to them again.

The only thing that either of them could be sure of was that it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

August 16th

Once again Simon found himself watching as the squadron of hurricanes came in to land. It had become something of a grim ritual for him to watch them land whilst counting them; just to see how many more had gone; how many more letters he had to write.

Right now he couldn't think of anybody with a worse job than him. What could possibly be worse than writing letters to mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters that you've never met telling them that their loved one is dead? It was a horrible job, one he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

Today however he was allowed a sigh of relief; all the hurricanes were accounted for. Nobody had been killed; there were no letters home that needed writing. It was one small relief to a day that he had had a very bad feeling about right from the start.

He continued to loiter outside his hut as the pilots began to disembark; pulling flying helmets and goggles off of their tired yet triumphant faces. He was awaiting Stuart and his 'all too' brief report on the days action; most likely all he would get were a few lines which he'd then have to spread out to a page for fighter command. That was another aspect of his job that he hated, though not as much as the letters.

Stuart approached him, looking very much worse for wear. By the look of things, victory or no, he needed a long rest. He held his peaked cap in one paw whilst he ran the length of his arm across his forehead. "I think I'm getting too old for this" he said with only half a smile.

"Judging by the look of you I'm guessing it was a successful sortie" Simon inquired, genuinely surprised by the cheerful attitude of the pilots as they left their machines.

Stuart bit into one of the fingers of his gloves before pulling the garment off "I guess you could say that" he managed through clenched teeth. He pulled the glove from his mouth before continuing "it wasn't anything heavy, just a couple of lost Dornier's. We got all three of them without loss"

No sooner had he collapsed longingly into his chair than the telephone began to ring. His eyes seemed to sink as the ringing continued.

It only took two rings before Simon picked up the receiver and held it to his ear "R squadron dispersal"

A pause as he listened to the voice at the other end, before he gave a curt nod "understood" and returned the phone to its cradle.

Stuart looked up at him, desperate to know what they had said. Seemingly ignoring his squadron leader however Simon lent out the window "Stand down R squadron"

Stuart slumped further into the chair as if a great burden had just been lifted from his shoulders "thank Christ" he muttered under his breath.

Simon pulled up the chair opposite and sat down in it "If you don't mind me saying, I think you could use a lie down"

A faint chuckle escaped from Stuart's lips and he tilted his head forward so he was once again looking at Simon "You're one to talk"

"Yeah I guess so" Simon nodded agreeably "I didn't get much sleep last night"

"Uh Hu" Stuart smirked, in a tone that suggested he wasn't entirely convinced by Simon's answer.

"I've got a lot on my mind" Simon bit back defensively, to which Stuart just nodded again

"Yeah you're not the only one" he sat up straight again "Take the evening off Simon, that's an order"

Had he just heard what he thought he'd heard? Was Stuart offering him an evening off "What about the report?"

Stuart casually waved Simon's question down "I'm not totally useless, I can take care of it" he looked into Simon's eyes with fresh concern, almost like Dave did Simon thought "You need some rest Simon"

Simon felt like arguing further, but he couldn't. There was nothing he could say that would dissuade Stuart, so for the first time that day, Simon found himself smiling "Thanks sir"

* * *

It was another packed evening in the officers mess that night, only this time the mood was considerably brighter. It was almost as if the pain they had suffered on the 13th had all but disappeared and been replaced by the old feeling of triumph. After all today was another victory for the RAF and in particular for the munks of R squadron, and this time it felt like a victory.

The palpable air of triumph may have filled the mess completely, but it totally failed to have any effect on Simon. He had too much on his mind to celebrate. What was worse was that he felt like he genuinely had nothing that was worth celebrating.

He eyed the pint of best bitter in front of him. He had ordered it and now he was willing himself to follow through and drink the damn thing. He had never had beer before. He had been well aware of Alvin's 'late parties' for quite a while and knew that his brother had drank more than his fair share of booze in his time. He'd never confronted him about it though, Alvin had never come home hammered, never done himself any harm and he seemed to enjoy himself so Simon had, uncharacteristically, let that one slide without telling Dave.

But sitting here staring into the amber brown liquid in front of him was an entirely different situation. He had heard people say that Alcohol could solve all your problems but he didn't believe that for a second, yet at the same time he was desperate.

At this stage he was willing to try just about anything if he felt it would help his situation with Alvin.

He was still trying to figure out just what he was going to do to solve this 'minor' problem. He supposed that talking to Alvin would be the easiest and in all likelihood only practical way to go about it. At the same time he knew that a talk with Alvin was going to be very difficult to start up after he had so spectacularly ballsed up their last conversation.

He continued to eye the pint in his paw, working up the courage to finally take a drink. He assumed he would need it if he was going to be able to talk to Alvin again and sort this whole mess out. He guessed now was the time for a little Dutch courage.

He gripped the pint firmly in one paw, feeling the warmth of the beer through the glass. Wasn't beer supposed to be chilled, or did they just do things differently over here?

This was it, do or die. He lifted the pint to his lips and without a second thought knocked back the glass, allowing the warm beer to wash into his mouth and down his throat. At first he coughed and spluttered at the strength and taste of it. It truly was unlike anything he had ever had before, and yet not in a bad way.

His short spluttering fit provoked a short cheer from the other squadron members, now celebrating a Chipmunks first pint. It was as if the administrative officer was now a full fledged member of the squadron.

Simon however had ignored the cheer, he didn't care. He continued to look at the beer as if it were possessed. It may have sounded weird but he did feel ever so slightly better. Throwing what little caution he had left to the wind the lifted the pint again and took another long swig

Was this a mistake? Probably but from where he was sitting he couldn't see any other alternative. Besides, as mistakes went, this one didn't seem to bad.

* * *

Alvin had no idea how late it was but he guessed it had to be pretty late, mostly because it had been dark outside for quite a while.

His entire day had so far revolved around the simple act of avoiding bumping into Simon again. Luckily for him red section had only been scrambled twice today, admittedly with only a few contacts but that was neither here nor there. Whilst he was glad that he had managed to postpone the inevitable for another day, he was unsure of just how much longer they could spend avoiding each other like this. It just didn't seem healthy.

The sound of movement from outside caused him to stir from his daydreaming; did it still count as daydreaming if it happened at night?

Sitting up in bed, he began to wonder if he had imagined it, after a good week without a decent sleep it was more than possible that his mind was playing tricks on him. Besides he may not have known how late it was but he was certain that everyone, besides himself of course, was asleep by now.

With his curiosity suitably perked, he shuffled as quietly as he could towards the door. He reached out a trembling paw towards the door handle, twisting it slowly until the door creaked open with it's usual groan. He clenched his teeth, hoping that whoever it was hadn't noticed the creaking door. He may have been curious to know who it was but at the same time he didn't want them to know that, at least not until he knew who it was.

As it turned out, his usual bad luck appeared to be holding.

It was Simon, and he was drunk; he could tell that much straight away. And by drunk he didn't mean slightly tipsy, he meant full on Inebriation. The kind of drunk were you could barley walk in a straight line and one that would definitely lead to a monumental hangover in the morning. Alvin had never been that drunk but he had seen people who had been, and it had never been pleasant.

Alvin watched nervously as Simon staggered ever closer to his door. It had been his plan to avoid his brother for as long as possible and there was a part of him watching Simon stumble down the corridor that said 'ignore him, he'll be fine'. Anyway there was the distinct possibility that after what had happened last night Simon wouldn't even accept his help if he offered it, certainly not if he was drunk.

Yet at the same time he knew he couldn't leave Simon like this. He guessed it must have been some sort of brotherly instinct; that they always looked out for each other even when they weren't on speaking terms.

As softly as he could Alvin creaked his door open and walked into the corridor, keeping his voice low so as not to wake any of the other pilots "Simon?" he asked softly.

Simon seemed to stagger at hearing Alvin's voice, before a wide and unnatural smile spread across his lips "hey there Alvy" he laughed, seemingly at the stupid nickname he had just come up with. Despite his drunken nature he was remaining surprisingly quiet.

Alvin dared himself and managed to move a little closer "Simon, are you drunk?"

Simon's grin was beginning to look creepy and he eyed his bother, almost wolfishly although that may just have been Alvin's imagination. "I may have had a few drinks" he admitted in a slightly slurred voice "But I don't think I'd go that far"

He moved forward, attempting to close the distance between him and his brother. His superior height had often come in handy during arguments with Alvin, not that he'd ever really won an argument but that was due more to Alvin's pig headedness more than anything else.

This time however, in his 'not quite drunk' state he found himself standing on the side of his footpaw instead of the sole. He plunged rather unceremoniously towards his brother, flailing in a vain attempt to try and steady himself.

Luckily for him Alvin had seen the fall coming and managed to catch his brother in his arms "I don't care what you say" Alvin felt his old cheek making a comeback as he spoke "You're drunk"

He lifted Simon up until the blue eyes were level with his brown ones, which was something that didn't happen very often.

And Then Simon kissed him

* * *

Simon pulled him into a vice like grip and kissed him. It was a long kiss, more passionate than any that either of them had ever given or received before. In fact it was the first time Simon had ever kissed anyone on the lips; he certainly hadn't ever imagined that Alvin would be his first kiss.

What was worse was that the reasoning behind it was completely lost to him, later he would suppose it was just a drunken misjudgement, but at the time it seemed he was acting more on impulse than anything else.

Despite all that had happened and all that he wanted and dreamed of, the kiss was hollow to Alvin.

The sweet and subtle taste that he had longed after and dreamed about for so long wasn't there; it had been drowned under a tide of Alcohol. The smell of it threatened to overpower his nostrils and leftover drink on Simon's lips left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He somehow managed to back out of the embrace against his baser instincts, and leaving his brother confused in the process.

"Please Simon" he begged "Don't do this"

Simon's brow furrowed; now he was completely confused, not least since his usually exceptional brain didn't seem to be working right. The drink was definitely affecting him more greatly than he had anticipated; it was as if he had lost control. "Why not?" his voice remained slurred as a result of the large quantities of drink inside him, but no amount of alcohol could remove the genuine concern and confusion from his voice. He closed again on Alvin "This is what you wanted isn't it?"

He pulled Alvin back into the embrace that he had only narrowly managed to escape from "It's why you joined up, isn't it" he added, running a surprisingly gentle paw through Alvin's hair. He tried his utmost to sound seductive; if he was going to do this he might as well go the whole haul.

Alvin shuddered in pleasure at the contact. He couldn't deny he wanted this, He wanted him. He wanted him so bad he couldn't think straight, but not like this; this was wrong.

He had dreamt about this moment so many times, but never like this.

He loved Simon but this wasn't him.

"You're drunk" Alvin protested, yet Simon seemed to ignore his protests.

Simon smiled "So?" and then he kissed Alvin again, completely enveloping Alvin's mouth this time.

Alvin's skin felt like it was fire as Simon's paws ran up and down his back. His tongue smashing Alvin's aside with ease, filling Alvin's mouth with the bitter taste of alcohol.

Alvin's mind was tearing in two; his body was feeling weak, almost woozy. Part of him didn't care; this was his one chance to be with Simon, why should he squander it for something as trivial as his conscience?

Simon was right, he had wanted him; wanted him for so long now, but he knew this wasn't what Simon wanted. He knew that Simon's love for him went no further than brotherly affection. He loved Simon far too much to take advantage of him like this.

He would never be able to forgive himself if he did.

Finally utilising his superior strength he was able to push Simon away, but it wasn't enough to stop his voice from wavering when he spoke "I…I can't" he stammered, gazing longingly into those gorgeous blue eyes in search of forgiveness "I just can't" he shook his head as his vision fell again "Not like this"

He backed away into his quarters and closed the door. He knew that if he had stayed in the corridor any longer under those piercing blue eyes, or if Simon had kissed him again he wouldn't be able to stop himself; not a third time.

If he stayed he would regret it, he knew that much.

* * *

Simon could only bring himself to stand and watch as Alvin pushed him away a second time, before closing the door in his face.

He suddenly felt stone cold sober again, and the second he did he wished that he didn't. Fresh turmoil now rushed into his already troubled mind.

Why had he kissed him? What had he hoped to gain from it?

He supposed that in his drunken state it must have seemed like a sensible thing to do, but now the reasoning behind it was completely lost on him. Now that he was feeling sober it seemed like a damn stupid thing to do.

He continued to stand there, saying nothing, doing nothing, just struggling to make sense of these new thoughts that were racing through his mind.

He supposed he must have thought that if he gave Alvin what he wanted for just one night then they would both be able to move on and put all this behind them. He thought it might have given Alvin a chance to see that a relationship with his brother just couldn't work.

But as he had embraced Alvin, ran his paws through his soft fur and kissed him more passion than Simon had thought he was capable of, he had encountered something else.

It was something he had not expected and something that thrown all his plans and calculations out the window.

He had kissed Alvin, and he had enjoyed it.

* * *

Thing's are starting to get interesting. next chapter will be up ASAP, but may be a while as it's quite a long one  
Reviews are, as always, much appreciated


	8. Aces High

Well it took me long enough but here is Chapter 8 at long last. A little heads up before you start, this chapter is split up over two days. Anything in regular font takes place on August 18th and Italics means August 17th.

Oh and the Chipmunks in thsi story are based on the ones in the CGI movies

Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

_Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few._

Winston Churchill, 20 August 1940

* * *

August 18th

"R squadron Scramble"

That harsh call jerked Alvin out of his peaceful sleep and brought him back to reality; His training instantly kicking in as he leapt up from the chair and immediately made for his hurricane. This sudden burst of movement caused the open book, which had been sitting on his lap, to slide off and fall to the ground. Luckily for him, it seemed that nobody had noticed his little snooze; either that or they had and they were just keeping quiet about it. He was certainly glad that Stuart was nowhere to be seen. If Stuart caught you sleeping on duty then you'd have a nice court-martial to look forward too and, considering how bad his week had already been, being chewed out by Stuart was the last thing he wanted right now.

It was just his luck though. He couldn't get so much as a wink of sleep at night yet now he was dozing off in the middle of the day, and when he was on standby too. It just didn't get much worse than that, well he supposed it could be worse if he was in love with his younger brother but unsurprisingly that thought didn't really come as much of a comfort to him.

He wondered what had happened to the good old days when he got to sleep at night and was awake during the day?

But now was not a time for thinking, this was a time for action.

Ignoring the fallen book, he continued running towards his Hurricane. Some of the lads were already strapping themselves into parachutes. The airfield was suddenly filled with the roar of Rolls-Royce engines.

Stuart had made it very clear to the squadron on countless occasions "A good squadron can be airborne within 2 minutes of a scramble, and I want you boys to be more than good"

With a single leap, Alvin was on the hurricanes wing, grabbing the parachute being offered by an engineer. He pulled at the straps over his shoulders, clicking them one after another into the buckle at the centre of the harness.

How long had it been now? He had no idea, should he have been keeping count of the seconds? It was too late to start now.

He quickly vaulted into the cockpit, pulling the canopy shut behind him. Was that two minutes, it felt like it but he couldn't tell if that was just the adrenaline or not. The only thing he could be sure of was that every second wasted on the ground only brought those Nazi bombers closer to their target, and if they reached their target then that would put Simon in danger.

He wouldn't allow that. Not now, not ever.

* * *

_August 17th_

_It was quiet, too quiet as the saying went. True they had had quiet days before, but not like this. Before today, a quiet day had meant only one sortie, usually to take down a stray German bomber or a scouting fighter; but today there was nothing. There were no scrambles, no drills, no alerts, nothing. _

_Normally a day like this would be warmly greeted as a welcome opportunity to get some well-earned rest, but after several days of relentless attacks and sleepless nights, the quiet was more eerie than relaxing. _

_Only a few members of R squadron actually grabbed the opportunity to get some sleep, the rest sat around outside, reading books and listening to the wireless whilst wondering just what had prompted the sudden lull in the fighting. _

_Just what were the Germans were up to?_

_Thomas Stuart however was not the sort of guy to pass up a lovely quiet day, especially after the hectic week he'd just been through. After his experiences in Spain, he had learned to seize whatever time he could to relax and to enjoy every second of it whilst it lasted._

_Currently he was sitting with his footpaws up on Simon's desk, a folded newspaper spread across his lap and a mug of tea nestled comfortably in one paw. Vera Lynn was playing on the wireless and the sound drifted in through the open windows._

_It was so peaceful in fact, that sitting as he was he could almost forget there was a war on and he could think of few things better than that._

"_Good morning Simon" he said, greeting the exhausted looking lieutenant without even taking his eyes from the newspaper._

_Simon couldn't bring himself to make any greater response than a groan before he collapsed into the chair opposite Stuart and tilted back his head as far as it could go, scrunching his eyes shut as if hoping to catch up on the sleep he had so obviously missed._

_This action in itself was enough to pique Stuart's interest, and caused him to peer over the top of his newspaper with an expression that couldn't be described as anything but calm and neutral. _

_Casually he lifted his arm to glance at the watch round his wrist "well I suppose technically its afternoon now but I'm not really the kind of guy to split hairs" _

_He lowered his arm but continued to look at Simon, with one eyebrow raised in intrigue and minor confusion "you alright?" he offered, a little lamely it had to be said, but none the less his voice was tinged with concern._

_Simon was most certainly not alright. He had drunk enough for two last night and now his head felt as if it was going to explode any second. If this was a hangover, he wondered, why it was that people were still drinking. Surely, anything that leaves you feeling as crap as this couldn't possible be a good thing._

_Stuart waited patiently for Simon to answer. When it became clear that no response was forthcoming, Stuart decided to return to his paper. He could take an educated guess as to why Simon was suddenly looking like death._

"_Did you not sleep well last night?" he persisted, ideally turning the page of his paper, hoping to see some more good news from East Africa._

_Simon opened his eyes again to stare up at the wooden ceiling above him. He'd spent so many days in this office yet he hadn't once looked at the ceiling "Not a wink" he mumbled, seemingly giving up his vow of silence "and could you please stop screaming" he added in a voice barely above a whisper as he gently massaged his forehead with his right paw._

_He knew that Stuart was only trying to help, but truthfully, he really wasn't in the mood for any of Stuart's cheerful advice or banter. He had assaulted his brother last night, tried to seduce him in some drunken idea of an apology and now he was paying for it with the mother of all hangovers. It was easily the worst feeling he had ever felt; the sort of feeling that you wouldn't even wish upon your worst enemy._

_He felt like crap and there was no way in hell he was going to talk about why. At least not with Stuart._

_Stuart managed to raise a sympathetic smile across the edge of his paper "It's always most brutal the first time"_

_Simon groaned and scrunched his eyes closed again, rubbing at them with his paw "what do you mean?" he murmured_

"_Hangovers" Stuart stated simply "Their always most brutal first time"_

"_Is this another subject you're an expert on?"_

_Stuart smirked "Well let's just say I've had plenty of experience" he turned the page of his paper, not that he was really reading it anymore "The thing is" Stuart went on with a mischievous smile "I thought you didn't drink"_

"_I didn't" Simon responded drearily but quickly added "And as of tonight I won't ever again"_

_Stuart continued to grin, "Was it an experience to remember?"_

"_Unfortunately" Simon was still sounding slightly groggy "I don't think I'll ever forget it"_

"_Was it really that bad?" Stuart was still grinning like an idiot. It seemed to Simon that Stuart was taking undue pleasure at his misfortune_

"_I think it easily qualifies as worst night of my life"_

_Stuarts smile faltered but it still managed to cling on "Wow, you must have done something really serious" he flipped his paper over "Either that or your more of a stick in the mud that I thought"_

_Simon opened his eyes again to glare at Stuart "You know you really aren't helping"_

_Stuart seemed to be finally taking the situation seriously, his expression turning from amused to concerned in an instant "Just what did you do?"_

_Simon let out a prolonged sigh and sat upright "Last night I got drunk, really drunk" he emphasised really as much as he could "and I did something that was… really stupid. Something that could have VERY serious consequences" he looked straight into Stuarts eyes "and the very worst bit is, that my heart is telling me it's all alright"_

_It was now Stuarts turn to lean back in his chair "So basically, you're hearts telling you one thing and you're heads telling you another?" he offered in an attempt to sum up what Simon had just told him._

_In response to this Simon nodded, "I don't think you can help me with this one"_

_Stuart nodded "You're a smart guy Simon. Whatever you choose to do I'm sure it will be the right choice"_

_Simon leant back into his chair "yeah well, I hope you're right"_

_Whatever way you looked at it Simon knew that this would be the most important decision he would ever have to make. He just prayed that when the time came he would make the right choice._

* * *

"Target spotted" Rochelle reported in "A group of He111's, about a dozen of the bastards. It looks like their heading for Biggin Hill"

"Roger that" Stuart responded "Those are the bastards we're after"

"Look's like they've got fighter support" Webb added from Alvin's flank "A handful of 109's by the looks of them"

Stuart glanced from left to right at his depleted squadron "Alright you guys know the drill. Red and blue sections engage the fighters, yellow and green you take the bombers"

The usual chorus of 'Aye' and 'Roger' sounded over the radio as the squadron split up into attack formation, Red and Blue splitting off towards the German fighters whilst the rest continued on, towards the fleet of Bombers.

Watching the display, Stuart couldn't help but feel a certain sense of pride at how efficient his squadron had become over such a short period of time. Yet at the same time, there was another feeling niggling at the back of his mind, one that made him feel sad, and ashamed.

He felt sad that a group so young had already mastered the art of killing, but worse still was the feeling of shame.

The shame that he was the one who had taught them; He was the one who took away people's children and turned them into killers. He'd done it in Spain and here he was doing it again.

Alvin took a long deep breath he had to focus now. He couldn't be worrying about earthbound problems, not now; His mind had to be fixed on the task ahead if he was going to survive. He pulled the respirator across his mouth and nose "Aye sir" he reported in.

Focus; that's the key

Focus

"Alright" Stuart flexed his paw around the control stick "Let's get the bastards"

* * *

_Alvin's room was quiet, it always seemed to be quiet nowadays. Outside it was pitch black. Night had fallen a long time ago and everyone was already asleep but once again, Alvin was awake and alone._

_Back home he had always enjoyed noise. He was after all a sociable creature; he had always been more comfortable in groups. He hated doing nothing or being on his own. Yet here and now, it was very different. Here he was scared to know people, scared to let anyone close. Since the death of Mitchell, he had found it increasingly difficult to talk to anyone in the squadron, found it difficult to get close to anyone. His continuing fight with Simon was only making things worse; it had actually reached the point where he feared those battles more than the one's against the Luftwaffe. After all, the worst thing they could do was kill him._

_What was the point of getting close to people, only to lose them?_

_Mitchell was dead and Simon…well he felt horrible even thinking about Simon._

_What he'd done to him, the person he cared for more than anyone else in the world. It was unforgivable_

_Yet he had managed to find some comfort in the silence that surrounded him. It was a total silence; the sort you could almost hear. In this quiet time, he could forget about the war, forget about the Luftwaffe, forget about what he'd done to Simon._

_It was so peaceful, so tranquil._

_He could almost be happy._

_Almost_

_As he lay there, he slowly became aware of a steady and persistent creaking noise. It was the noise of a door opening slowly enough so as not to disturb anyone's sleep, at least it wouldn't have if the RAF would oil their hinges every once in a while._

_All the same, who could still possibly be up at this hour and more importantly why would the pay him a visit at this time of night?_

_Deciding to act unconcerned, he continued to lie on his back, his paws behind his head and one foot paw swinging back and forth over the edge of the bed. He had a good idea of who it might be in fact he was almost certain he knew, and if he was right then it would be a moment he had been dreading._

"_What do you want?" he asked without even bothering to look up "come to make more drunken advance?" his voice sounding more bitter than he wanted it too. He knew it wasn't Simon's fault; Despite all that had happened between them Alvin had never been able to stay mad at his little brother, he had however grown very good at acting like he was._

_Simon was immediately taken aback by the renewed strength and determination that seemed to flow from his brother's voice. It was a strength that had been missing for far too long and Simon was glad to hear it again. It was surely a sign that Alvin was getting back to his old self, and that could only be a good thing._

_On the other hand, however, it upset him greatly to hear that Alvin was still pissed at him. He guessed he deserved it though; from the moment he had arrived at the airfield he had acted like a complete self-righteous twat._

_This was his chance to make up for that. To put aside his ego and superiority complex and just be the brother he should have been a long time ago._

"_I just wanted to talk," he offered rather lamely. He left a long pause before speaking again and stayed near the door; just in case Alvin wanted him to leave then and there. He had told himself he was here to bury the hatchet once and for all. He didn't want another fight. "I just think it's time that we both admitted that we've been pretty stupid and just talk" he paused again, almost unable to say the next words "Like brothers"_

_Alvin scoffed "When have we ever talked like brothers?" he twisted his head round to look at his brother standing in the doorway "Face it, from the moment we were born we've been at each others throats"_

_It was sad but true. For as long as either of them could remember they'd been fighting over one thing or another, usually the most trivial or stupid of things. In fact, there had been many times when both of them had wondered if they had anything in common aside from their parents._

_There was a short silence, as Alvin's words hung between them "Well maybe it's time we started" Simon finally said._

_Alvin returned to looking at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh before speaking again "So what do you want to talk about?" As if he couldn't already guess (!)_

_Simon shifted slightly were he stood, as if a change in posture would relieve some of the uncomfortable feelings he was experiencing; It didn't "I guess I wanted to say I'm sorry" he bit his lip "For what's happened. For what I said in the hanger and what… happened last night" it took a deep breath before he could continue, "It was a stupid thing to do and I apologise"_

_Under different circumstances, Alvin would have been thrilled. Simon had just admitted he was wrong. He had finally won a fight with his smart-arse brother_

_As it was, Alvin was silent. Stupid? So the kiss really had meant nothing to Simon. He'd guessed as much. He'd been foolish to get his hopes up. Simon had been drunk and he'd made a mistake. He must have been an idiot to think otherwise_

"_Don't worry about it" he forced himself to say, "You were just drunk, it happens to the best of us"_

_Simon reached out a paw and lent on the wooden bedpost "I… I just didn't think. I…" he suddenly fell silent. He just couldn't think of anything to say and he hated himself for it._

_There was so much he needed to say, so much he needed to explain. This could be his last chance to even things out between him and Alvin and here he was, lost for words. He'd never been short of things to say before, yet here when it really mattered he just couldn't think of anything "I just want us to be brothers again"_

_And that's all? Alvin found himself asking bitterly. He couldn't help but be disappointed. He had come all these miles, sacrificed so much and he'd achieved absolutely nothing._

_Simon moved round the bedpost and sat down beside his brother. He looked deep into Alvin's eyes as if he was somehow looking for repentance in those pale brown orbs; seeking forgiveness for something he hadn't done yet. _

_Alvin returned the gaze, seeing something in his brothers eye that he had never seen before, something he couldn't identify. What could it mean? What was Simon trying to tell him?_

"_I'm sorry Alvin, I just can't love you the way you want me too"_

* * *

Alvin yanked back the throttle and swung his hurricane into an arc, allowing the 109 that had been on his tail to shoot past.

That had been close, another few seconds and Fritz would most likely have had him.

He kept his Hurricane in its steep turn, the 109 apparently ignoring him in search of easier prey. Ignoring Alvin was not a good idea. He didn't like to be ignored; In fact, he hated it.

As quickly as he could he swung the Hurricane back round. There he was; the smug 109 with its red nose cone, probably a squadron leader. He kept his eyes fixed down the crosshairs as the 109 dodged up and down and side to side.

"Come on" he whispered under his breath "come on"

There

He squeezed down on the trigger firing a short burst that shot over the 109's wing, missing it by a fraction. A second burst was equally disappointing and the 109, now aware of the danger, was beginning to turn away.

"Damn it" he squeezed down on the trigger a third time, which only achieved as much as the last two volleys. Cursing again Alvin yanked his control stick to the left, trying to keep the 109 in his sights.

This jerry was a slippery bastard but Alvin would get him.

He wasn't about to give up, not now.

"Aw shit," Callahan swore, "We've got Fresh bandit's moving in"

"Fighters?" Stuart asked

Callahan nodded "Aye, a whole flight moving in above us"

Damn, Stuart switched over the radio "R squadron to control, we've got fresh fighter groups moving in. We need assistance"

He nimbly ducked his Hurricane under a lumber He.111, firing a fresh burst at a passing 109. A few lucky bullets ripping into the engine, and the 109 burst into flames.

"R squadron this is control, we have two squadrons already on course to assist you"

Rochelle twisted his control stick again strafing the group of Heinkel's again, without any noticeable damage. Just how much punishment could these damn bombers take?

Alvin meanwhile was still trying to bag this red-nosed 109. The German squadron leader both amazed and shocked that he couldn't shake this single hurricane. In France, the Hurricanes had never been able to keep up with the much faster 109's, so why couldn't he lose him

Then the fresh 109's dived onto the already outnumbered hurricanes. Alvin twisted his fighter into a roll hoping to avoid the fresh fire pouring down on them, whilst still keeping one eye on that damned squadron leader.

"64 squadron will be with you in one minute. Hold out R squadron"

Alvin twisted the control stick down, an idea suddenly entering his mind. His Hurricane swept down into a sudden and steep dive. This would have to work; this dogfight was beginning to get personal.

The German squadron leader risked a glance over his shoulder, puzzled by the sudden disappearance of that _verdamnt_ Hurricane.

Good, it was gone, now he could get pack to fighting properly.

It would be the last mistake he'd make.

A rapid volley of shots tore into the underbelly of his 109; A further trail of bullets ripping through his engine and sending plumes of black smoke spewing out the other end.

Alvin was almost overcome by the victory. He couldn't believe it. He'd gone up against a German squadron leader and he'd won. He watched, with a certain sense of smugness, as the 109 pitched over in its final journey to earth, its pilot leaping from the smoking plane. Tumbling through the air until his parachute billowed out behind him.

The war was over for him, but for R Squadron there was still a long way to go and a lot of Krauts to beat.

"Were the hell is 64?" Stuart called down the radio

"Not long now" the familiar voice of 64's Squadron leader replied "Just hold out a bit longer"

"Well tell them to bloody well hurry up, or there won't be any of us left to back up"

"I'll pass that on, R squadron" Control responded with what sounded like grim humour

Damn well better, Stuart thought bitterly, despite what control might have thought, he hadn't been joking.

Could they hold out that little bit longer, could they hold off a fresh wave of German fighters until 64 squadron arrived? They were barely holding their ground as it was. He was starting to wonder if they could even…

"Alvin Watch out" he yelled down the intercom.

Alvin's mind immediately snapped away from his triumph over the German squadron leader and back to the continuing battle as his eyes began a frantic search, flicking left and right in a desperate attempt to find this new danger, but it was no good. Stuart's warning had come just a few seconds too late.

Despite Alvin's training and best efforts, the first he knew of this new attacker was when something buzzed past his face. He could smell singed fur smoke as more and more of the objects slipped past him, accompanied by a dim cracking sound.

There was a dull pain in his leg, he could have sworn it hadn't been there before and it was getting stronger. The buzzing was getting louder now, almost drowning out the sound of his engine as it began to sputter and die.

It was only now that he realised what had happened.

He'd been bounced. A fresh wave of 109's had arrived, and they had bounced him. They were pouring fire onto him just as he'd done to at least a dozen 109's before, and he was helpless to stop them now.

He'd forgotten to focus, his mind had wandered and in a dogfight; that was a fatal mistake.

It was the oldest trick in the book and he'd fallen for it. How many times had Stuart told him to 'Beware of the Hun in the Sun'?

The canopy around him began to crack as more bullets shot past him. His vision was beginning to blur, the hurricane refused to respond to his controls.

The pain in his leg was becoming sharper now, and he was beginning to taste blood. He could barely see now, everything was so blurry.

He continued to wrench at the control stick but it did no good. The Hurricane continued to spiral earthwards.

As his vision failed him, the last thing Alvin saw was the ground rushing towards him.

And then everything went black

* * *

Ohhhh, Leaving you on a cliff-hanger, I'm so evil.

Is Alvin really dead? Does Simon really mean what he's saying?  
Find out soon

Final chapter should be up sometime in January


	9. The Reason

Well you can consider this an early christmas present from me, the final chapter. Originally, this was supposed to be mixed with chapter 8 but I decided that two chapters would be better than one huge one. I realise that some of you were upset with the ending of Chapter 8, but i'm begging you know, please read through the whole of this chapter. also some pre-christmas reviews would be greatly appreciated

Oh and it's called 'The Reason' because of the song

* * *

_When you go home, tell them of us and say: 'For your tomorrow we gave our today.'_

WWII Memorial Inscription

* * *

Twelve paces; that was the distance between walls; it didn't matter which way you, Back and forth, right and left it still took you twelve paces to get from one wall to the other; always twelve paces.

Simon had lost track of how much time he had spent in this hut, just pacing between walls; waiting for the squadron to return. Waiting for that simplest, but most precious piece of news, 'your brother is still alive'

He was always nervous during a scramble, but today was by far the worst yet. Today he felt hollow, incomplete. His conversation with Alvin last night kept repeating itself over and over in his mind. He had done the sensible thing, he was convinced of that, so why did he feel so empty? So why did he feel like there was a piece of his heart missing?

It couldn't have worked; he knew that. His scientific mind had told him that society would never accept two brothers falling in love, but was that really enough of a reason not to try?

Was it really better to love and lose rather than never love at all?

He had done the sensible thing; after all, he always did the sensible thing, but was it the right thing. That was the question he found himself asking again and again.

The familiar drone of aircraft engines drew his attention away from his pacing and thinking, and he moved towards the door to begin the grim ritual of counting the dead.

He stood and watched as the hurricanes came into land once again, one by one. He counted them off as they did so, wondering how many letters home it would be this time. Nine had taken off on patrol this morning, only six hurricanes returned, half of the squadrons starting strength. That meant three more dead pilots, three more grieving families, three more empty seats in the mess.

But who?

He felt an icy claw clamp around his heart, and began whispering under his breath "please god, no, not know"

The look on Stuarts face as he clambered out of the cockpit said it all without a word passing between them.

Stuart stormed into the cabin, more angry and frustrated than Simon had ever seen him. His eyes were red through a combination of bottled rage and lack of sleep. He angrily hurled his cap into the corner of the room, pulling his cigarettes from his top pocket in the same movement.

He stuck a cigarette between his lips and rummaged for his lighter "Damn 109 unit pounced us" he answered Simon's unasked question. He sounded as if he was forcing himself to be calm "before we knew what was happening we were three men down"

He held the lighter in one paw flicking it again and again, but each and every time it refused to light; his patience steadily running out with each failed attempt "If 64 had turned up when they damn well should have we wouldn't have lost anyone" his voice steadily raising as he spoke

Three men down, three missing Hurricanes; but who was it? Why wouldn't he just spit it out? WHO?

"Ah Bugger It" Stuart at last exploded, hurling the useless lighter across the room in uncontrollable burst of rage and frustration, and causing Simon to jump a little "What's the fucking point?" he turned on Simon as if seeking an answer to the rhetorical question but Simon remained silent

"All my life I've been fighting for what I believe in and it hasn't made the blindest bit of difference to anything"

All Stuarts control had finally broken, there was nothing holding him back now "All I've done my whole life is watch young kids join the army and get themselves killed and for what?" Simon couldn't answer that, no one could

"For two long years I fought in Spain, I watched young boys join up and die because they believed they'd make a difference, and now it's all happening again"

"There's no end to war, Simon. The second one stops people forget just how horrible it is, they forget the pain and the misery and the suffering. All they remember are the 'heroes', and how glorious the struggle was"

He collapsed into his chair, holding his head in his paw "I'm tired Simon" his voice was lower, back to it's normal level "I'm tired of watching my friends die, I'm tired of making sacrifices, I'm tired of seeing young people with hopeful futures lose everything" a long pause "I'm tired of fucking wars"

Simon finally brought himself to speak; keeping his voice quiet in the hope that he could keep Stuart calm "Who did we lose today?"

The squadron leaders head twisted up, a look of pain and sorrow written across his face.

Don't say it.

Please don't say it

"I'm sorry Simon"

Don't say that, you don't mean it

"A group of 109's dived on him; he was down before we knew what had happened"

No. He didn't mean that. It couldn't be.

There was still so much that he needed to say.

How could it end like this?

* * *

_18th December 1938 – Thomas Edison High School_

_Simon could hardly hide his surprise when his older brother Alvin walked up and sat down beside him at the lunch table. It wasn't very often that he shared lunch with his brother. In-between their fights on the way to school and their fights at home they tended to keep themselves at arms length, besides Alvin usually had lunch with his 'cool friends' rather than his geeky brother._

_Today however seemed different._

"_To what do I owe the pleasure?" Simon asked, taking a sip of milk whilst awaiting Alvin's, no doubt, 'incredibly sophisticated' response._

"_So now I need a reason to spend time with my little…" he paused as Simon raised a questioning eyebrow, and he remembered the height difference between them "I mean younger brother?"_

_Simon put down his glass and sighed, "How much do you want?"_

"_That hurts Simon" Alvin's lip trembled with pretend sorrow "that really hurts, to think my dear brother believes the only reason I'd spend time with him, is to scrounge for money"_

_Simon rolled his eyes and returned to his milk "I've learned from experience"_

_Alvin pouted, but saw Simon was ignoring him "Fine, I'll admit it, I'm a little short on money" he gave a short laugh "Who isn't these days, but…" he quickly added "but That's not why I'm here" he quickly added, shuffling slightly closer to his brother. "I was talking to Brittany and she said, that Jeanette told her that, you hadn't asked Jeanette to the Christmas party"_

_Simon placed his now empty glass back on the table, wiping away his feint milk moustache with his free paw "No, I hadn't, although I don't really see how that's any of your business" he chuckled "Unless you were going to ask me yourself"_

"_Yeah" Alvin laughed nervously, twiddling his thumbs and trying not to make eye contact "Cause that would be silly"_

_Simon didn't pick up on the nervousness; much to Alvin's relief "I suppose you're going with Brittany?"_

_Trying to regain his cool, Alvin tried to lean back, which was not an easy thing to do on a bench "Na, I decided to leave it this year. Seems like a lot of hassle, you know"_

_Simon appeared to be either uninterested or unconvinced "Really"_

_Trying to act as if he'd just thought of it, Alvin suddenly sat bolt upright "Say, if you're not doing anything and I'm not doing anything, maybe we could spend the evening together"_

_Simon laughed, "And spend the next morning wiping up the blood?"_

_Alvin's face fell and this time Simon picked up on it "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that" he twisted slightly on the bench so he could look directly at Alvin "I suppose it is about time that we spent some quality time together as a family., I'll talk to Dave once we get home. We can have a family meal out or something, I'm sure Theodore won't mind"_

"_Great" Alvin tried to sound enthusiastic. It was far from what he had hoped for but better than nothing, he supposed, "That's just what I had in mind"_

_The School bell rang out, signalling the end of lunch. Simon stood up, picking up his empty glass on the way "I'll see you later" he said with a short wave._

_Alvin nodded in acknowledgement. It had not gone to plan, but it was a result none the less._

_He had hoped that the two of them could have a quiet evening together. A chance for them to bury the hatchet, patch up the wounds of their fighting, and a chance for Alvin to admit just how much Simon meant to him. He guessed that would have to wait_

_He just prayed that when the time came, and he could finally admit how he felt, that Simon would be as understanding as he had just been._

* * *

Simon twisted and turned in the middle of a field, searching desperately for some sign, any sign, of Alvin or his Hurricane.

Just how hard could it be to find a crashed airplane?

How he had gotten here was a bit of a blur. He had vague memories of a still burning wreck with a sinister black Balkenkreuz on it; he remembered asking an RAF recovery officer if they'd found any Hurricanes yet to which he'd received a no, but it was as if those events had happened weeks if not months ago.

His mind just didn't seem to be working right. Part of his brain was telling him one thing but the other half just refused to believe it. He'd spent enough time writing letters home to grieving families to know that none of the Chipmunks who had been shot down had survived. The odds of Alvin surviving were…

He had to find Alvin; he had too. He'd promised Dave that… No, there was much more to it than that. This was more than just fulfilling a promise to Dave. This was his brother he was talking about, his irritating, obnoxious, headstrong, lovable brother.

He had to find him, he just had to, to prove that he wasn't… wasn't…

Damn it Alvin where are you?

You can't just leave me like this you idiot.

There was so much that still had to be said, so much he needed to tell him.

This couldn't be the end. Not now

* * *

_August 17th 1940_

"_I'm sorry Alvin," Simon said, with what could only be regret in his eyes "I just can't love you the way you want me too"_

_Alvin could hardly believe what he was hearing. He supposed he should have expected as much. After all, Simon had never shown any romantic interest in him before. _

_Had he seriously assumed that Simon would fall head over heals in love with him just like that?_

_Had he seriously expected a relationship to spring up from out of nowhere? _

_Had he seriously believed that Simon could feel the same way towards him?_

_But none of made him feel any better, none of it did anything to dull the pain he felt_

_It was as if his heart had shrivelled up and died inside of him, leaving nothing but a hollow void in its place_

"_What do you mean?" he asked struggling to keep his voice level_

_Simon sat down beside him, placing a reassuring paw on his brothers shoulder, slowly rubbing the space where neck and shoulder met, whilst keeping a sad smile on his face _

"_There are just some things that can't work out Alvin" his voice growing gradually quieter as he spoke "No matter how badly we may want them to. You just have to understand that not every situation has a happy ending"_

_He continued, telling Alvin all the things he didn't want to hear "If we got together we'd never be able to tell anyone, never be able to show how we feel in public" his smile failed him "We'd be living a lie. I just couldn't live like that, and I don't think you could either"_

"_We could run away" Alvin protested, his voice filled with a desperation he'd never felt before, indeed he'd never thought he'd have been capable of before "We could run away to France. It's not a crime there" he was clutching at straws and he knew it "I don't need anyone else, so long as I've got you"_

"_Really" Simon could see just how much Alvin wanted this, but it couldn't work. Why couldn't he just accept that? "Would you really be ok living in another country knowing you could never go home? That we could never see Theodore or Dave again?"_

_Alvin hung his head in defeat. Simon was right, and he had never wanted him to be more wrong "We'd still have each other" he offered, as one last throw of the dice_

_Simon turned his head away, removing his paw from Alvin's neck "Please Alvin, you're just making this harder than it need's to be"_

"_Si…" Alvin reached out a paw, maybe he hoped that just some physical contact between them would make everything alright, but already he knew that it wouldn't "I love you, and no matter what may happen, I'll always love you. If you're asking me to just turn off my feelings for you then… I can't"_

"_Damn it" Simon looked up "I know that. I know you can't change how you feel, I can't change how I feel, but it's not up to us. We're two brothers and if we get together we'll never be accepted, you know that and so do I. All we'd end up doing is hurting the people close to us, Theo and Dave" he was forcing the words out now but he had to do this. He had to tell Alvin once and for all that it couldn't work. They were words he didn't want to hear, words he didn't want to say, but it needed to be said. They were Star-crossed and all the wishful thinking in the world wouldn't change that._

"_I wish things were different, but their not" he offered._

"_It's alright" Alvin lied "I understand" he felt like he was dying on the inside but there seemed to be nothing he could do to change Simon's mind. Simon had made up his mind, and there was no changing it now._

_A silence fell between them._

_Finally, Simon stood up, pausing as he did so. He lent down and kissed Alvin lightly on the cheek. "I'm sorry" he whispered, one last time, then turned and left the room._

_Once outside of Alvin's room, he felt his legs turn to jelly beneath him. He collapsed back against the wall and slid down till he reached the floor; and then he just sat there, unable to get back up again. _

_He had done the right thing, the sensible thing just as he always did. There was no way they could be together; he knew that. He wanted to, but he couldn't. They wouldn't let him, no matter how much he wanted it._

_Something wet struck his paw. A tear; a second followed, then another and another._

_He held his head in his paw, the tap had been turned and there was no turning it off now._

_For the first time in his life, Simon sat and sobbed uncontrollably. He could hear Alvin crying as well, he wanted to go back in; he wanted to console him and tell him that everything would be all right, but he couldn't._

_They couldn't be together. _

_They just couldn't_

* * *

Simon could feel his hope slipping away with each passing second.

He continued to run, not sure exactly where he was going, but something was telling him he was going the right way. He ducked under a hedge, and bounded quickly over an empty road.

It was in the next field that he saw it.

A long trench, torn right across the field, as if made by some Giant plough; a group of sheep were huddled at the far end of the field as if seeking some sort of safety from whatever had so destroyed their home.

To Simon there was little doubt in his mind. He begged his already tired legs to make one last effort, cross one last field.

The sky above was beginning to get dark, grey clouds were gathering in. It had started to rain, but he didn't care. He couldn't care about anything but the task at hand. Nothing, absolutely nothing in earth or heaven was more important to him than his brother, and he cursed himself for not realising it sooner.

His legs were screaming out at him, he had to stop. As if on purpose his paw slammed into a loose stone and he fell, hitting the earth and skidding a few inches.

He swore again, and again. Cursing with every breath how useless he was, what a failure he was as a brother.

Why did he keep screwing things up?

Angrily he pushed himself back up, ignoring the mud that had spattered his uniform and ignoring the pain he could feel burning through his lungs and legs. The pain that begged him to stop, but he couldn't stop.

He reached the stonewall, stopping momentarily at the huge hole that had been ripped through it

There it was, its propeller blades bent upwards at unnatural angles, its wings torn and broken and its body pot marked with bullet holes yet it was undeniably a Hurricane.

With renewed determination, he set on one final extra burst of speed, tearing across the last few meters on all fours until he felt like he couldn't make another step.

With one bound, he leapt onto the shattered wing, his heart skipping a beat as he wrenched open the cracked and broken canopy.

It was Alvin, still and unmoving.

Ignoring every part of him that screamed that Alvin was already dead, Simon undid the harness and pulled his brothers limp body from the wrecked cockpit.

He stepped off the broken wing and held Alvin as close too him as he could, one arm round his back to grip his shoulder, the other gently rubbing the back of his head like a mother consoling her child over a skinned knee.

"It's OK" he whispered "You can wake up now, you got me," he laughed weakly, but Alvin still didn't move.

"Come on Alvin, this isn't funny" his voice was becoming desperate, yet Alvin remained unmoving.

The rain cascaded down on them in an unending torrent, but Simon couldn't feel it

A tear struck Alvin's shoulder, and then another as Simon held his body still closer.

"Don't leave me," Simon almost shouted, "Not like this. There's so much I need to tell you, so much I have to say. You can't just leave like this"

Alvin said nothing, did nothing.

"What am I supposed to tell Theodore, and Dave?" Simon begged. "I was responsible for you, Alvin. I was supposed to look after you"

He pulled Alvin close again "I'm sorry Alvin. I'm so so sorry. Please wake up" he wiped at his eyes with a paw and whispered, "I love you"

Part of him had hoped those words would be enough, like some sort of fairy story all he needed to do was confess his love and everything would be alright, but this was no fairy story.

"All my life I've done what I was told; did what people expected of me. I was just so scared of wanting something for myself. I was too scared to be what I wanted"

He continued to sit there, holding Alvin tightly and stroking his fur with his free paw "And now it's too late" he whispered, "I'm sorry" he repeated, although his voice was too choked up for anything else to be said.

He sat there for what seemed like an eternity, with the rain pouring down over both their bodies, hiding the tears that had run down his face.

Then he froze.

Had Alvin's ear just twitched?

It couldn't have, but…

Hope overruled everything else in his head. He released Alvin from the embrace, laying him back whilst still supporting his back with one paw. "Alvin?"

He began to shake him. Simon had never been religious but now he found himself praying with everything he had.

Please god. Please god. Please god.

"ALVIN" he repeated, desperate for a sign, any sign just something to tell him he hadn't failed, that there was still hope

"ALLL-VINNNNNNNN"

At the last call of his name a cough erupted from Alvin's mouth, but to Simon it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in his life

"Dave?" he croaked, a few more coughs escaping "what are you doing here?"

Simon wiped at the mixture of rain and tears from his cheeks. "It's me" despite everything else, he found he was laughing with sheer joy now "Simon"

"You should see you're face" Alvin's face cracked into a grin "I really got you that time"

Simon continued to laugh, holding his brother closer. Whilst wiping at the tears with a free paw "Yeah, you sure did"

Alvin twisted his head gently to one side "I'm so tired" he spoke barely above a whisper

Simon suddenly shook him vigorously "No Alvin, stay awake. I can't lose you now. Not after everything we've been through"

He pulled Alvin back into another deep embrace, and kissed him.

Alvin's initial surprise quickly faded and he relaxed into the kiss. This was no drunken impulse, or some attempt at an apology. There was something different about this time, something that felt…right.

This was what he had wanted all along, and despite what his common sense may have told him, there was something telling him that Simon wanted it too. There was just something in this new kiss that felt genuine.

As the kiss went on, neither one of them willing or wanting to break it, Alvin could feel the sides of his mouth twitching.

It had been so long he had almost forgotten what it was like to truly smile.

Simon's mind was in turmoil, only this time there was no question which side of his brain he was listening to.

He knew that it was wrong to him. He was kissing a guy, his brother no less and he was enjoying it. He was committing a crime, but he couldn't stop himself. It just felt so right.

All his life he had done what other people expected, done what he was told, but now was the time where he could finally do what HE wanted to do.

He had never in all his life dared to imagine he would ever be in this situation but now he was here it was as if everything had suddenly become clear. There was no drink clouding his judgement this time, he wanted this; more than anything else in the world he wanted this right now. He couldn't explain why, but maybe that was part of the beauty of it all. There was no science or logic behind it; it was pure simple unscientific love.

All the things he had said earlier, about just wanting to be brothers again had gone from his mind, everything had. He wanted Alvin in more ways than he could have ever imagined.

The kiss ended slowly, both of them slowly parting, both seeing the same thing in the others eyes.

It was Alvin who broke the silence between them "wow" he whispered. It was better than he had ever dared imagine. To hell with dying, he was going to live, no matter what the Luftwaffe might throw at him he swore he would never leave his brother again.

Simon felt happier now then he had ever felt before. He had never imagined that he could feel this alive. Overwhelmed by the moment, he hugged his older brother closer "I love you" Tears of joy still freely flowing from his eyes as he hugged Alvin tighter "I don't care what people say or what they think, I love you"

He suddenly felt Alvin's paws tighten around him. Then an all too familiar voice whispered in his ear "I love you too Simon"

They grey clouds had gone, the sky was clear, and as the sun sank out of sight the two brothers held each other close, finally having found the love, they'd been told they couldn't have.

* * *

I've found a reason for me

To change who I used to be

A reason to start over new

And the reason is you


End file.
